


The Life Chaotic

by nikkithedead



Series: The Life Chaotic [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cheating, Dubious Consent, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicide, Trauma, self mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:11:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 38
Words: 121,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkithedead/pseuds/nikkithedead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of season two, Jackson has been left traumatized and broken, unable to connect with the world around him. Feeling desperate and lost, he seeks out Derek as a convenient distraction and source of comfort. Just as the two begin to find a strange solace in each other, a new threat arrives in Beacon Hills, one with the power to throw all of their lives into chaos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Memories

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is set shortly after the end of season two, and takes place in a universe I like to call "fuck you season 3." Nothing that happened in season three is going be acknowledged by or occur in this story. I'm also including the Alpha Pack in that, even though technically we first saw them at the end of season two. So instead of Chris Argent releasing Boyd and Erica at the end of season two, only for them to be immediately captured by the Alpha Pack, what happened here is that Chris let them go, and they were found in the forrest by Derek shortly after.
> 
> Trigger warnings for subsequent chapters include dub-con, non-con, suicide and self-mutilation. Graphic violence and sexual situations will be common. If you have any questions about the specifics of those, feel free to send me a PM.
> 
> Merry Christmas :)

 

* * *

"I could have screamed aloud;  
I sought with tears and prayers to smother down  
the crowd of hideous images and sounds with which  
my memory swarmed against me."  
—Robert Louis Stevenson,  _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde  
_

* * *

**Prologue: Memories**

Neither of them had meant for it to happen. Looking back, Derek wasn't even sure how it  _had_ happened. One minute they'd been yelling at each other, and the next Derek had Jackson pressed roughly back against the wall, and Jackson was pulling off his clothes...

Derek  _had not_ meant for that to happen. Hadn't meant to yell at him, and definitely hadn't meant for the sweaty, awkward hand-job that had followed. He'd only wanted to make it better.

It had been well past mid-night when Derek had wandered down into the dingy basement that held the abandoned subway car he'd spent a portion of the previous year living in. He'd moved on now, to a more permanent living situation, but he still liked the space. That was where Derek had found him, huddled in a corner, red-eyed and stinking of alcohol. His hand had been bleeding, cut on the bottle of whisky he'd shattered in it when he'd realized it could no longer be used to dull his pain.

Derek had tried to talk to him. To... comfort him, as best he could. Comfort wasn't really his area of expertise, he was more of a "suck it up, bury it down and go on" type of guy... but he was trying to change, he really was. The experience with the kanima, and with Gerard Argent, had been a wake up call. He needed to be there for his pack, not just train them up into little warrior wolves and tell them to try not to get killed. They were teenagers, and they were lost. They needed him to guide them.

The trouble was it wasn't easy guiding someone, when you were just as lost as they were.

So he'd tried to get Jackson to talk to him, to tell him what was wrong... to help him. Ignored Jackson's repeated, biting assertions thats he was  _fine,_ and that Derek should just fuck off and leave him be. Ignored the stream of insults and jabs, the relentless sarcasm and the overwhelming urge to grab him and  _shake him._

Jackson had not made it easy. His attitude made it practically impossible to be nice to him, and niceness was not something that came easily to Derek under the best of circumstances. Derek didn't think he'd ever met someone who infuriated him so much, or so easily, and that said something because Derek was personally acquainted with Stiles Stilinski.

All things considered, Derek had actually been doing alright; keeping his temper down, trying to at least  _appear_ calm. Then he'd realized that though they'd been "talking" for over 10 minutes, the cut on Jackson's hand was still bleeding.

That really sent him over the edge, Jackson keeping himself from healing. It was so stupidly, self indulgently  _pointless._

So he'd lost it, shouted at him and demanded that Jackson tell him what was wrong, and let himself  _heal,_ or else Derek was going to claw out his throat. He'd thrown him up against the wall and growled harshly in his face, fully expecting Jackson to laugh at him and tell him to go fuck himself. But talking it out hadn't worked, so it had clearly been time for the old stand by of claws-and-teeth.

It  _had_ worked, sort of. Jackson had told him what had happened.

See, when Jackson had been the kanima, he hadn't remembered what he was doing. Matt made him forget, made him not know what he was. Now that Matt was dead, and the kanima curse broken, the memories of what he'd done had been coming back to him. They came back in pieces, Jackson said, in quick flashes—the sound of screaming, the smell of blood, wide terrified eyes... Sometimes memories came back to him out of the blue, but more often than not they were trigged by something.

Today after school, Jackson had found that the fuel line on his Porsche had broken, and he'd taken it into the mechanics to get it fixed. As the kanima, Jackson had killed a mechanic by the name of Tucker Cornish. When he'd gone into the shop, the memory had come back.

Derek had tried to tell him that it wasn't his fault, and that hurting himself wouldn't solve anything. Jackson hadn't listened, still refused to heal, and so Derek had resumed shouting at him. Jackson had been shouting back, his hands on Derek's chest trying to shove him off. And then... neither of them had been shouting anymore.

Derek still didn't understand how it had happened, how he'd lost control like that. In the end, it didn't really matter how or why it happened, just that it never happened again. And it wouldn't, Derek swore.

Still, it hadn't all been for nothing. What had happened hadn't been planned, but it had worked, in a manner.

Jackson had healed as he came.


	2. Flesh

 

* * *

"And nobody finds the one, but keep looking,  
Crawling in and out of beds.  
Flesh covers the bone,  
And the flesh searches for more than flesh."  
—Charles Bukowski,  _Alone With Everybody_

* * *

For the first time in months, Jackson had not dreamt of dying. He'd slept without seeing the faces of Matt or Gerard, and in the morning awoke without the cries of his victims echoing in his ears.

Instead, the cries that faded from his mind as he woke up were... different. Instead of  _help,_ they'd cried a name.  _Derek._

What had happened between him and Derek the night before hardly felt real. It seemed insane—no, it  _was_ insane. Derek was obviously insane, and Jackson was even worse for wanting him. Wanted, past tense. Had wanted him last night, but now it was morning and he was determined to prove that the insanity had been temporary on his part.

Last night was over. It was morning now, and as Jackson pulled himself out of bed and shuffled towards his bathroom, he resolved to not wanting him ever again.

And why would he? He wouldn't. Shouldn't.

_Won't._

While Jackson jerked off in the shower, with memories of Derek's rough hands and hungry mouth drifting around his head, he just told himself that it didn't count.

* * *

School was uneventful. People spoke to him, he spoke back. He went to his morning classes. Took some notes—not good ones. It didn't matter, he'd find someone else to get decent ones from later. Worst case scenario, he'd just pull the "I died" card, and get out of any tests or assignments he had on whatever it was that they were learning.

Lunch time for Jackson was both painful and boring. Particularly painful because it was also boring, and there was no worse pain than the very boring kind. Boring pain dragged on forever. As such, Jackson felt like he'd been having lunch for at least 12 years now. The time on his cellphone said it had only been 20 minutes.

They were sitting with Scott, Stiles and Isaac today. Scott had smiled at him and tried to have some kind of conversation when they'd sat down ( _"Do you think you'll come back to lacrosse soon? The teams not the same without you..."_ ) and Isaac had given him a kind of half-smile and a nod, followed by a very deliberate look at Scott that said  _"see, look how nice I'm being to him?"_ Scott had rolled his eyes, and Jackson had quietly seethed. He hated that Scott McCall was telling people to be nice to him. He hated that Scott McCall somehow thought they were  _friends_ now. He didn't want his friendship, or his pity.

Stiles' attitude towards him remained blessedly unchanged. He resented him for being with Lydia, and generally ignored him otherwise. For that, Jackson was grateful.

Next to him was Lydia, sitting with an untouched salad in front of her, and looking at a fashion magazine with the kind of careful deliberation that could only mean she was just as bored as he was. Jackson knew that she wasn't really reading it—it was the same magazine she'd had with her two nights before, while they'd done their homework together. Or more accurately, the magazine she'd been reading while Jackson had done his homework (which she had finished hours before him) and refused all of her offers to help.

If she'd had the magazine two days ago, he knew there was no way she hadn't already read the thing cover to cover by now. That meant the magazine was no longer reading materiel, but a prop chosen to broadcast a certain image to their peers. Jackson wondered how he'd never noticed before, how much of her time Lydia spent carefully broadcasting a certain image. He'd known image was important to her, obviously... but beyond that, he guessed he just hadn't bothered to care.

Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if he was one of her props. He knew that she loved him now, because he listened closely to her heartbeat whenever the words left her lips—every time expecting to hear the quick  _thrumpity-thrump_ of a lie—but he still couldn't helping thinking back on every moment of the last two years, and wondering how much of their relationship had just been for show.

"Soo..." Stiles was saying, reaching over in front of Scott and grabbing a few french fries from Isaac's plate. Isaac narrowed his eyes a little and watched as Stiles shoved the fries into his mouth and continued to talk. "Tonight, we're doing video games and pizza at Scott's, right?"

"I thought we were studying for the chem test tonight?" Scott asked, furrowing his brow.

"Right, yeah, that's what I said," Stiles began reaching for Isaacs fries again, but Isaac grabbed his wrist before he could get near them. Stiles glared at him, and retracted his hand.

"Can I stay over?" Isaac asked, taking a few of his own fries and smirking at Stiles while he ate them. "Derek's been kind of moody lately."

Stiles snorted. "You meant 'er', right? Derek's been moodi _er._ Which I personally find hard to believe, considering that he's always at what  _should_ be the maximum level of moodiness that any human being can achieve—"

"Sure you can stay," Scott said, speaking over Stiles. "But you guys have to promise me we're going to get  _some_ studying done." He looked back and forth between Isaac and Stiles, who had suddenly become very involved in their respective lunches. Scott sighed. He looked up, and Jackson quickly turned away and tried to pretend he hadn't been listening. "Jackson, do you want to—"

" _No,"_ Jackson said, standing up violently. He was horrified Scott had mistook his listening for interest in hanging out with them (and even more horrified in himself, because he knew his actual interest lay in the fact that Isaac wouldn't be at Derek's tonight. He would deny that too). Lydia glanced up from the magazine she wasn't reading, and raised an eyebrow at him. "I have to go, I'll see you after school, alright?" He turned away, and heard her sigh.

"We have class together next period, Jackson," Lydia said, going back to her prop.

"Then I'll see you next period," Jackson muttered. He stormed out of the cafeteria and spent the rest of lunch aimlessly wandering the hallways and trying not to think about Derek. Not Derek's hands, or the way Derek's mouth had felt on his neck. Not how frustrating it was that he hadn't been allowed to touch Derek back.

The back of his neck was growing hot. Just thinking about all the things he wasn't thinking about was getting to him. Making him flustered.

When the bell rang, he looked up and realized he was standing in front the Photography club's dark room.

He told himself that didn't count, either.

* * *

After school Jackson met Lydia in the parking lot. His car was still at the mechanics, so she was his ride. When he arrived she gave him a quick kiss by way of greeting, and then they got into the car and drove away from the school.

Jackson looked out the window as they drove. The sky was dark and cloudy, and some sense that he couldn't quite describe told him that a storm was headed their way. The clouds had been building for a few days now, with them a sort of subdued dreariness had settled over Hills recently. Everything looked bleak and grey, still and almost lifeless. Jackson didn't mind. In fact, he kind of liked it; it suited his mood.

Neither of Lydia's parents were home when they arrived, but they went straight up to Lydia's bedroom anyways. Lydia began unpacking her textbooks and homework, and Jackson dumped his backpack in the middle of the floor, and stood with his hands in his pockets. They'd hardly spoken on the drive, and he felt like he should say something.

"Uh... so, how was your day?"

Lydia was flipping through the pages of her pink day planner. She shrugged. "Alright, I suppose. Generally uneventful." She looked up from the day planner, and raised her eyebrows. "What about you?"

Jackson nodded. "Uneventful," He lied. Lydia smiled, and went back to her day planner.

* * *

_Jackson was in chains. They descended from the ceiling and bound his wrists together above his head. His clothing was in tatters, and long red marks covered his body, like lashes from a whip. Jackson struggled against his chains, and someone laughed. He cried out as his jailer's hand roamed over the lashes on his chest, inflaming them. "Where do you think you're going?" Derek asked, sliding his hand up the back of Jackson's neck. "Control yourself, Jackson," He pulled off what remained of Jacksons shirt and pressed his mouth against his shoulder in a way that was more bite than kiss. Jackson moaned. "Or better yet..." Derek said, his hand slipping down to Jackson's tattered pants. "Let me control you." Jackson laughed and closed his eyes as Derek began to touch him. They both knew that he already did._

_And there was no other way Jackson would want it._

Somewhere in a world far away, a female voice called Jackson's name. Jackson squeezed his eyes shut harder, and clung to the feeling of Derek's hands. The voice called his name again, and this time Jackson recognized it. Lydia. A jolt of fear went through Jackson's heart—she couldn't see him like this, she couldn't see him with Derek—and his eyes sprang open and he sat up with a jolt.

Jackson breathed heavily, and looked at his surroundings. There were books and papers covering his chest, and he remembered falling asleep while he and Lydia had done their homework. His heartbeat slowed. Next to him on her bed, Lydia raised her eyebrows. "Bad dream?" She asked, not unsympathetically.

Feeling nauseous, Jackson nodded slowly. "Yeah, horrible." He said. He hoped that Lydia never figured out exactly how often he lied to her.

* * *

At midnight Jackson stood in front of his window, staring at his own reflection and convincing himself that he wasn't about to do what he was about to do. He couldn't be about to, because what he was about to do was  _insane,_ and his insanity from the night before had only been temporary. It was all gone now. Everything was fine.

That's what he told himself as he climbed out his window, backpack slung over his shoulder. He jumped off from the roof and landed easily on his feet in a crouch. He looked around as he stood up, but the streets were deserted. Of course they were, it was midnight and this was suburbia; everyone went to bed at nine.

Jackson tucked his hands into his pockets as he headed down the street, watching Isaac's old house uneasily out of the corner of his eye. Despite the over-grown lawn and the FOR SALE sign, he still half-expected to hear shouting and pleading coming from inside. He listened for a moment but, of course, the house was silent. All of its former inhabitants were either dead or as good as. Jackson walked on.

It was close to 1:30 by the time Jackson arrived at Derek's loft. Once inside the building, he stared at the thick metal door, listening to the sound of his heart hammering away in his chest. This had been a mistake. A really, really stupid one. What did he expect Derek to do? He should leave. Right now.

Jackson didn't move. He took no steps forward towards the door, and none backwards towards sanity. He simply stayed exactly where he was, regretting every decision he'd ever made that had let him to this point.

Jackson was still standing there, unmoving, waffling over whether or not he was going to leave, when Derek opened the door. "Jackson?" Derek asked, looking at him with a furrowed brow. Jackson felt his whole body go rigid. "What are you doing here?"

Jackson's mind raced around for something to say, some sort of lie or excuse or  _anything._ All that left his mouth was "Uh..."

Derek's brow unfurrowed, giving Jackson the horrifying idea that he knew exactly what "uh" meant. "How long have you been standing here?" He asked, looking him up and down.

Jackson looked down at his watch. "About 10 minutes,"

Derek sighed, and took a step back from the door, holding it open for Jackson, who again tried to say something, but found that his mouth had gone horribly dry. Words stuck in his throat, Jackson ducked his head slightly, and walked past Derek into his loft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Addendum to my previous note about how nothing from season 3 about be happening in this fic; I lied. There is indeed an element from season 3 that I have decided to keep in this fic. Derek's car. In the world of this fic, he has replaced the camaro with the toyota. It's bigger and more practical, the backseat is roomy, which may or may not be important later on.
> 
> Happy New Years.


	3. Mistakes

* * *

"Keep quiet, nothing comes as easy as you.  
Can I lay in your bed all day?  
I'll be your best kept secret,  
And your biggest mistake."  
—Fall Out Boy, _Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner_

* * *

Jackson had been to Derek's loft a few times before, but never at night, and never without the rest of Derek's pack there as well. It seemed different this way... smaller, somehow. Jackson switched his backpack to his other shoulder, looking around. Despite the late hour, it didn't seem like Derek had been sleeping. There was a large, dust covered volume face down on the coffee table off to the side of the room, and over at the back Jackson could see Derek's bed was still made. Jackson stared at the bed and its dark covers, trying to picture Derek lying amongst them, sleeping. It wasn't easy to imagine Derek asleep, looking vulnerable and unguarded.

"Jackson, you can't do this," Derek said, making Jackson jump. Derek didn't appear to notice. He had closed the door to his loft, and made his way across the room to the couch. He took a seat on the edge of it, and rested his forearms on his knees. "You can't just show up here, out of the blue. Isaac—"

"—is at Scott's," Jackson finished. He smirked, dropped his backpack against the floor and stepped towards the couch where Derek sat. "I heard them at lunch."

Derek regarded him warily. "We can't do this, Jackson," He said this time. "What happened last night, it—we—" Derek broke off as Jackson approached. He watched wordlessly as Jackson removed his jacket and laid it across the coffee table, covering Derek's book. Derek glanced briefly at the jacket, then back up at Jackson. "What are you doing?" His voice was quieter now, but Jackson wouldn't exactly say it sounded soft.

Trying very hard not to listen to the sound of his own heart hammering in his chest, Jackson grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up over his head. He took a step closer to Derek, and the beat of his heart grew louder as he felt Derek's knee press against his leg. He didn't know what he was doing, or what was was driving him... he just knew that he couldn't let Derek turn him away. He'd come too far for that.

Jackson let his shirt fall to the ground, and his arms fall to his sides. He stood in front of Derek, red faced and half-naked, and waited. For a moment, Derek only stared at him. Then Jackson saw Derek's eyes slide down from his face, to his bare chest.

Derek swallowed.

Though the expression on Derek's face gave nothing away, Jackson concentrated, listened closely to the sound of Derek's breathing and heard it quicken. Derek's eyes flicked up to meet his once more, and he held Jackson's gaze as he reached forward and touched him, brushing his fingers lightly along his navel.

A dry gasp escaped Jackson's throat as Derek grabbed his hips with both hands, pulled him forward and pressed his mouth against his skin. It felt like a bolt of electricity had hit his body, sending waves of static shock running through his veins, making his blood boil. His knees felt weak, his legs shaky, and as Derek's mouth roamed over his body he could not help but dig his fingers into Derek's hair, clinging to him as he sucked dark purple bruises into Jackson's skin.

Jackson felt Derek's lips leave him, and for a moment he just felt his breath, heavy and warm against his wet skin. Derek looked up at him, and Jackson could not have said how, but in that moment he knew that he had him. Derek wanted him, and tonight, Jackson would let himself be had.

Jackson swallowed, and tried to keep his voice steady as he spoke. He wanted this, more than he could remember having wanted anything since he'd died. "Derek..." There was no need to be scared, because this time—this time it was his choice.

If his voice shook, it was only a little.

_"I need you to fuck me."_

* * *

In the end, Derek thought it was how very prepared Jackson had been, that had really broken him. Even more than the fiercely determined (and just a little bit scared) look in Jackson's eyes when he'd told Derek to fuck him. Jackson himself seemed unsure whether he was asking or telling Derek, and his tone of voice seemed to waiver awkwardly between the two; one second demanding, the next begging.

Similarly, Derek wasn't sure which he preferred.

Inside the backpack Jackson had brought with him were three different types of lubrication, and three different boxes of condoms in various sizes. "Wasn't sure what to get," Jackson mumbled, scratching at the back of his neck and looking anywhere but Derek's bed, where he'd upturned the contents of his bag. "I was hoping you'd know."

Derek told him he did.

They moved quickly, stripping off their clothes and collapsing together on Derek's bed (the former contents of Jackson's backpack shoved off to the side). Jackson's ferocity surprised him, but not more than his own hunger. It wasn't until his claws came out that Derek even realized how out of control he was. And although Jackson cried out as Derek's claws raked across his back, just as his mouth moved along his neck, he only clung to Derek tighter. He said nothing, but somehow Derek knew he didn't want him to stop.

Everything was happening too fast. It was too much to process, to handle. It was as though someone had lit a fire inside his chest, and every time he touched Jackson he felt the flames climb higher, burning him from the inside out. And deep down, Derek knew, he  _knew,_ that this was wrong. Jackson was hurt, he was broken, and Derek couldn't say he was much better off. They couldn't do this, it was a mistake. And Derek had already made so many of those in his life, he didn't think he could afford another.

In a last ditch effort to do something resembling right by Jackson, Derek wrenched himself away and tried to catch his breath. "Jackson... we can't, it's..." Through the darkness, Derek saw Jackson roll his eyes. He grabbed Jackson's wrists and pinned them on either side of his head, trying to push down his frustration and the consuming heat in his chest. "I could  _hurt_ you," He insisted. He needed Jackson to listen, to understand that this was wrong. He needed Jackson to walk away, because he didn't think he could.

Jackson looked up at him for a moment, and then raised his head towards Derek.  _"Good,"_ He hissed. His jaw clenched tightly. "That is  _exactly_  what I want."

The burning in his chest reached an apex, and Derek could no longer fight against it. As he gave in, and allowed himself to be consumed, Derek took comfort in the fact that no matter how bad the mistake, at least this time he was not alone in making it.

* * *

In the darkness and silence of his loft, the groaning beside Derek seemed somehow amplified.

Derek lay next to Jackson and watched him through the darkness. Jackson had barely moved since they'd finished. He was on his knees, face down in one of Derek's pillow, forearms braced against the mattress on either side. Derek could see his arms shaking a little, as though he was struggling to lift himself up. Long red scratches decorated Jackson's back—shallow, but still painful looking. It would be a while before they healed.

Derek reached out, running his hand over Jackson's torn skin. A sharp intake of breath punctuated Jackson's groans. Derek's stomach knotted. "It was too much," He mumbled, smoothing his hand over Jackson's back. He kept his touch soft, gentle, as though trying to undo the damage. "I should have known better..."

Jackson managed to lift his head up, and Derek's hand stilled, surprised to see that he looked sleepy. "Mmm, shut up," Jackson mumbled. He rolled over, so his reddened back was pressed against Derek's chest. He groaned again, but this time Derek thought he could hear a sort of perverse pleasure in it. Derek saw his eyelids shut. His words slurred slightly. "S'fucking perfick."

Jackson pushed back against him, and Derek stared down at him, surprised. Jackson said nothing more, and after a moment of listening to his slow, rhythmic breathing, Derek realized he'd fallen asleep. Very carefully, Derek wrapped his arms around Jackson and lay down to sleep beside him.

* * *

It was still dark when Derek stirred awake, and found Jackson sitting up on the edge of the bed, half dressed. He watched in silence as Jackson pulled his shirt over his head, and began putting on his socks and shoes. "My parents usually look into my room before they leave for work in the morning," Jackson said, looking down as he did up his laces. "I should probably be there, when they check on me."

Derek said nothing, but continued to watch as Jackson gathered up his things, and headed for the door.

"What was this, Jackson?" Derek asked. He saw Jackson pause, his hand on the door knob. He thought he saw his back stiffen slightly.

Jackson waited a moment before answering. He opened the door, and glanced back over his shoulder. "A mistake," He said simply.

And then Jackson left, closing the door behind him.


	4. Training

* * *

“This is torturous electricity, _  
_Between both of us.  
And this is dangerous,  
'Cause I want you so much, _  
_But I hate your guts. _”  
—_ Daughter, _Landfill_  

* * *

Twice a week, after school, Jackson was forced to meet Derek and his pack for what Derek called “training.” For Jackson what that meant was twice a week, he got his ass handed to him by kids he used to be able to walk all over. This took place in a strange basement enclosing in the city, which reeked of petrol and was filled with old car parts and an abandoned subway car.

Jackson couldn't say he typically looked forward to these meetings, and today had not proved an exception. And not just because this was the first time he'd seen Derek since their he'd visited his apartment the week before.

It had not been a fun week for Jackson.

He had meant what he'd said to Derek, as he'd left him that night. It _had_ been a mistake, both times. The problem was, it was a mistake that Jackson knew he was going to have to make again. He couldn't explain why (perhaps he _could_ have, if he'd tried, but truthfully he did not want to know) but he knew that whatever had begun between him and Derek, it was far from over.

After his night with Derek, for the entirety of the day that followed, Jackson had kept the scars he had been given. When he'd arrived home in the morning, he had stared himself in the mirror, looking over his shoulder at the damage that had been done to his back. Most of it had already healed to dark red and white scars, but some—the deeper ones—were still raw and scabbed. He'd liked the look of it, and all day it had been a comfort to him to know they were there, souvenirs of his night with Derek. He'd like the feel of them, when he moved or arched his back, he could feel them stretch and the scabs break. He liked the pain, just as much as he'd liked it when Derek had gave them to him. It felt like what he needed.

He had kept his souvenirs for as long as he could, but when he'd woken up the next morning to find them gone, healed while he'd slept, he'd been forced to admit the truth to himself. If he ever wanted to feel sane again, he was going to have to see Derek again.

It had only been a matter of when.

Today for sparing, Derek had paired him up with Erica. As usual, Erica looked far too happy about being given another opportunity to hurt him.

In the centre of the room they circled each other, while Boyd and Isaac watched from the stairway. Derek stood off to the side, appraising them with crossed arms and a furrowed brow.

Erica watched him intently, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on him. Even before she moved, Jackson knew he would never move quick enough to block her. He never did.

When she finally made her move, she went directly for his throat. Her claws came out, and a growl escaped her throat as she lunged. It was over in less than a second. She knocked him to the ground, and his head hit the pavement with a dull _thud._ Everything blurred for a moment, and when it came back into focus he was staring up at Erica's grinning, triumphant face. He could feel her claws pressing at his throat.

“That's enough,”

Derek's voice came from somewhere beyond Erica's face. She looked up, and Jackson tilted his head back slightly to see Derek approaching upside-down from the other side of the room. “That's not fair, it was over too fast,” Erica complained, straightening up from her crouching position. She grinned down at Jackson, who glared back up. “It's no fun when I don't get to play with him,"

Off to the side of the room, Jackson heard Isaac laugh. Next to him, Boyd shook his head disapprovingly, and Isaac made an attempt to stifle the laughter against his fist. As he picked himself up from the floor, Jackson glared at them. 

Jackson was barely on his feet when Derek shoved him, sending him stumbling off towards the staircase where Isaac and Boyd stood (the designated side-lines). “She's right, Jackson,” Derek said, as Jackson attempted to regain his composure. Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson could see Boyd looking at him, as if he wanted to ask if he was alright. Isaac was still suppressing a smirk. Jackson set his jaw and stared at the floor, aggressively ignoring them both. 

“That was pathetic,” Derek continued, shaking his head at Jackson.

Jackson gritted his teeth, focusing even harder on the floor. Hate flowed through his veins like lava, burning him up and turning his face florid. “ _Sorry,_ ”

“Don't be sorry, Jackson. Be better,” Derek gestured with two fingers towards Boyd, while Jackson quietly fumed, resisting the urge to storm out and away from this pit as fast as he could. “Boyd, you spar with Erica now. Show Jackson what a real fight looks like.”

“Oh, _fuck_ you,” Jackson snapped, unable to hold his anger in any longer. He lifted his eyes from the floor, and across the room they met with Derek's. To Jackson's great surprise, Derek smiled. It was barely visible, and contained the hint of a smirk, but it was a smile none the less.

Suddenly Jackson's mouth felt unbelievably dry. He wished he'd brought something to drink with him.

In the centre of the room, Boyd and Erica were circling each other, similar to what she and Jackson had been doing earlier. The only difference was that while Jackson had resigned himself to defeat and simply been waiting for Erica to attack, Boyd was obviously watching Erica just as intently as she was watching him.

Just as she had with Jackson, Erica once again made the first move. Unlike Jackson, Boyd was ready for her. He grabbed her around her middle, sweeping her off her feet in a smooth gesture. But while Boyd had size and strength on his side, Erica had speed and agility. Before he could slam her the ground, she'd twisted and manoeuvred them around so that when they did hit the floor, she was the one on top.

It made Jackson dizzy, watching them fight. They spun and kicked and grabbed and slammed so quickly and smoothly, at times their fight looked more like a brutal dance. From the smiles on their faces and the way their eyes glinted, you'd have thought that was what they were doing. But Jackson thought that might have been more about their partners, than about the dance itself.

When the fight was over, Erica was once again victorious. She flipped her sweat-damped hair out of her face, and grinned down at Boyd. Even though her knee was on his chest, and a clawed hand at his throat, Boyd smiled back up at her. Obviously, Boyd did not mind having Erica kick his ass.

“Good,” Derek said, giving them a stiff, but approving nod. “That was good,”

“Woah, what did I just hear?” Isaac asked, feigning shock. He cupped his hands around his ears. “Say that again, I didn't quite catch it. It almost sounded like praise, for a second...”

Derek turned to Isaac, his expression neutral. “You know what Isaac, that did feel a little unnatural to me,” He said. “I might have to break someone's arm, just to balance it out.”

The smile dropped from Isaacs face. “Right, I can take a hint. Time to go,” He said, catching the eyes of Erica and Boyd. They began to gather up their things, and Jackson did the same.

“No, not you,” Derek said, sticking his arm out as Jackson attempted to walk by him. “We're not done here.” At the stop of the stairs, Isaac snickered, and Jackson saw Erica smirk at him as the three of them left, letting the heavy metal door clang loudly behind them.

Jackson ground his teeth, and let his backpack drop the floor. “What? 

“What do you mean what,” Derek said, striding towards the middle of the room. He turned to face him. “You've got more training to do.”

Jackson slunk forwards, dragging his feet. “Why, so Erica can have another toy to play with?” 

“No, you idiot, so you don't _die._ ”

Jackson breathed out through his nose. “You mean _again,_ ” Jackson muttered, under his breath. Although Derek must have heard him, he said nothing. 

“Alright, come at me,” Derek said, gesturing towards himself. Jackson sighed, resining himself to another hour of pain and humiliation. When he'd fantasized about the next time Derek would be throwing him onto his back, somehow this hadn't been what he'd been picturing.

When Jackson charged towards him, Derek made no move to step out of his way, or block his attack. He simply waited for Jackson to get with in arms reach, and then picked him up and threw him down onto the floor, knocking the breath clear out of his lungs.

As Jackson lay on the ground, struggling to breath, he heard Derek sigh. “Again, Jackson,” He said. Jackson groaned, and then picked himself up off the ground and repeated his actions. He charged at full speed towards Derek, who was once again able to throw him down to the ground, with no visible display of effort. This time when he hit the floor, Jackson thought he might have heard something crack. “ _Again,_ Jackson.”

They repeated this scene a good four or five times before Derek seemed to grow annoyed. “You're not even _trying,_ ” He growled, pacing back and forth with his arms crossed as Jackson wheezed on the floor.

Jackson's entire back felt like it had been split open, and his mouth floundered open and closed a few times before he was able to gasp out the words “ _fuck you._ ”

Derek shook his head. “Have you healed yet?” He demanded. Too sore for sarcasm, Jackson just glared and shook his head. “Well, heal.” Derek said. He crouched down next to him, and stared down at him. Jackson diverted his eyes, and tried to ignore the way Derek's scent filled his nose. Almost against his will he breathed in deeply, and felt the pain in his back ease. Jackson gritted his teeth, cursing himself. He hated himself for wanting him so badly. It wasn't fair.

“Can you at least tell me what you're doing wrong?” Derek asked. “Do you have any idea?”

“Yeah, getting my ass kicked,” Jackson grunted. 

Derek didn't look amused. “You know that part before you and Erica were fighting, where you were circling each other?” Derek said. “While _you_ were waiting for her to tear your throat out, _she_ was studying you.” Derek raised his eyebrows. “Looking for weaknesses, planning her attack. So when she moved, it was deliberate. She had a _plan._ Do you understand what I'm saying? If you just keep charging ahead half-cocked, you're going to be spending a lot of time on your back.”

Jackson snorted, and Derek glared down at him, obviously angry that he wasn't taking his little pep talk seriously. “Maybe thats exactly how I want to be spending my time,” Jackson said, raising his eyebrows.

Derek's lip curled at his comment. “Don't,” He said simply, standing up and turning away.

“Don't what?” Jackson asked, standing up as well. Suddenly his back felt fine. He took a step in Derek's direction. Before Jackson knew what had happened, Derek had lashed out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulling him forward and then slamming him back into the concrete wall. Jackson groaned, gritting his teeth sharply. Evidently his back hadn't been _quite_ healed yet.

“I won't do this with you, Jackson,” Derek snarled, still holding him by the front his shirt. He was close enough that Jackson could feel Derek's breath on his face, hot and angry. “I'm not going to spend the night with you, just to have you scurry off like a rat in the morning, telling me it was a mistake. If you think I'm going to play that game with you, you've got even less brains than I thought.” Still glaring angrily, Derek dropped his hands. Jackson let out a long breath, one he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. “I won't be another reason for you to hate yourself, understand?”

Jackson rolled his eyes and stretched his back, heard it crack stiffly. Derek's words left an uncomfortable weight in his stomach, and he tried to hide that as best he could. “God you're sensitive,” He muttered, still stretching. The muscles in his back felt like they'd given up trying to heal. “Fine, no games, alright?” His hand drifted up between Derek's legs, and he rubbed firmly, wishing Derek was wearing something more forgiving than jeans. “Can I suck you off now, please?”

Derek's lips parted slightly, and Jackson could see that the anger in his eyes had turned to surprise. It faded quickly, and Derek grabbed Jackson by the wrist and pulled his hand away. “You said it was a mistake,” Derek reminded him. If Jackson hadn't known better, he would have thought there was a note of suspicion in Derek's voice. As though he was worried Jackson was playing some kind of trick on him. 

Jackson grinned, and slipped out of Derek's grasp. “Yeah, well, I make a lot of mistakes...”

And with that, he sunk to his knees. 

* * *

There was no bathroom in the basement, but there a tap in one of the walls, to which Derek had attached a hose and used sometimes to wash the blood from the concrete floor, after particularly brutal training sessions. Jackson used this hose now, to rinse out his mouth. The water tasted slightly metallic, and Jackson tried not to think about how fucking unsanitary it was while he gargled with it, and then spit it out over the drain in the floor. 

Across the room, Derek was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall. He sat with his legs splayed out in front of him, his pants pulled back up but left unbuttoned. He looked tired, and as he walked back over to him and took in the sight, Jackson felt strangely satisfied. 

As Jackson approached him, Derek did not look up, and Jackson was suddenly unsure about what he was supposed to do now. Should he just leave? He glanced over his shoulder, at the door, and then back at Derek. He doubted Derek would stop him now, if he just walked out. 

Instead of leaving, Jackson took a seat on the hard concrete floor, shoulder to shoulder with Derek. Now Derek turned and looked at him, and for a moment Jackson was sure he was going to ask him what he was still doing here.

“Why?” Derek said. “Why are you doing this?” 

Jackson blinked a few times. “I didn't realize it was such a problem,” He said, hurt. That was even worse that when he'd been imagining. “If you want me to stop _bothering_ you, just say so. I'll leave.” Jackson made to stand up, but he'd barely risen an inch off the ground when Derek's hand came down on his shoulder, pushing him back down.

“That's not what I meant and you know it,” Derek said, rolling his eyes.

Jackson glared at him. “No, I don't. How would I know that? I'm not a friggin' mind reader...” Derek sighed loudly, and put his head in his hands. “ _Fine,_ what did you mean then? Why am I doing _what?_ ”

“ _This,”_ Derek lifted his head back up, and gestured between the two of them. “What are you getting out of this, exactly? Why... why bother? You have friends, a girlfriend—”

“Don't talk about her,”

“You have a _life,_ Jackson,”

“I _had_ a life,”

“Then you should be trying to get it back!” Derek snapped, his eyes glowing red as he glared at Jackson. Jackson felt himself instinctively back down, but he quickly forced that away and glared back at Derek, feeling his own eyes glow blue. Derek blinked a few times, and his eyes faded back to normal. When he spoke, the anger was gone from his voice. “I know that it isn't easy, Jackson, but that's what you should be doing. Putting your life back together. Rejoin lacrosse, the swim team—” Jackson recoiled slightly, and looked away. “Talk to the friends you've been ignoring, spend time with Lydia. Be a normal teenager, as much as you can.” 

“I said not to talk about her,” Jackson mumbled, staring at his hands.

He heard Derek sigh. “Did you hear anything else I said?” 

“Yeah, sure. Be normal, rebuild my life. Got it.” Jackson looked up at Derek. “But I won't, or... I can't.” He paused. “Maybe I just... don't want to. I don't want to rebuild the life I had before. I don't want to build any kind of life, really.”

“Well you're not _dead,_ Jackson, so you have to do something.” Jackson shrugged, and Derek raised his eyebrows. “So that's that's your plan? Just avoid life, spend the rest of your time in no man's land?”

Jackson thought for a moment. “Maybe...” He said slowly. He turned away from Derek once more, clasped his hands in his lap and stared at them. “Maybe that's why I'm doing this. So...” He squeezed his eyes shut. This was physically painful. “So I don't have to be there alone.” He kept his eyes shut, feeling the weight of his words hang in the air. Stupid, why the fuck did he say that? Where did that even come from? Idiot, he was an idiot.

Worst of all, he knew it was true. Jackson hadn't wanted to face it, or think about it or feel it, but there it was. The reason he needed to be with Derek, the reason why no else felt right, the way he did. Because Derek was like him. Broken, lost, scared... no real family, no real home. No life. Sure, technically Jackson wasn't dead, but what he was doing didn't feel much like living, either. The truth was, he just didn't fit anymore. Into his life, into the role he was supposed to play. 

And Derek was the same. It was sick, and sad, and it made Jackson's insides twist to admit it, but when he was with Derek, he no longer felt alone. And somehow, he felt safe. Jackson was damaged, a sad dead boy trying to live a life that was no longer his, and while being with Derek didn't change that, or make it any better... at least he didn't need to try and be anything else.

After a painful minute of silence, Jackson opened his eyes, and found Derek staring at him. There was no anger in his eyes, no malice, no annoyance. They were just... open, and looking at Jackson.

And Jackson knew that Derek understood.


	5. Calm

* * *

"I like these calm little moments before the storm.  
It reminds me of Beethoven.  
Can you hear it?  
It's like when you put your head to the grass  
And you can hear the growin'  
And you can hear the insects."  
—Stansfield,  _Léon: The Professional_

* * *

Having an affair with Derek Hale turned out to be considerably more difficult than Jackson had thought it would be. Of course, since having an affair with Derek Hale was something that  _directly involved Derek Hale,_  Jackson probably should have anticipated that. After all, where Derek was concerned, what  _wasn't_ difficult? Everything about Derek, every part of Jackson's life that had been touched by Derek was difficult... why would fucking him be any easier?

It wasn't that the actual fucking was difficult. No, they were fine in that area. More than fine, really. Great. It was everything else, that was the problem.

The biggest problem was actually scheduling. Even without lacrosse and the swim team, Jackson's time was still eaten up by school and Lydia, and Derek's time was eaten up by his pack and... other things, he supposed. Honestly, Jackson wasn't really sure what Derek did in his free time. He knew he had to spend his time doing  _something._ Obviously Derek didn't just spend his days sitting alone in the dark, glaring at the walls of his loft... probably. He probably didn't do that.

Maybe Jackson would ask, the next time he saw him.

In a typical week, the only time Derek and Jackson would see each other was during training. They were able to steal hours here and there after sessions, but there was only so much they could do in that dirty little basement. There was no bed, no real place to lie or sit down, and there were only many so many times Jackson was willing to get fucked with his hands braced against a concrete wall.

Jackson began spending most of his free time at school listening in on conversations held by Isaac, Scott and Stiles, hoping to overhear something that indicated Isaac wouldn't be spending the night at Derek's. So far he'd had little to no luck, and it was getting to the point where if he had to overhear one more debate over who should be King or Queen on  _Game of Thrones,_ or which comic company had the better villains, Marvel or DC, he was going to tear out his own throat. Death was nothing compared to this agony, he knew that first hand.

Hooking up after training sessions was becoming more difficult as well. There was only so many times Derek could hold Jackson back for "extra training" before it began to look suspicious. Similarly, Jackson wasn't sure how many times he could just dawdle and lag behind the others, before they began to notice that he never left with them.

The next time they met for training, Jackson decided to give himself an excuse to go back, and purposefully left behind his jacket. He left with the others, and stopped when they reached the mouth of the alley. "Shit, I forgot my jacket," Jackson said, trying to look and sound pained. "I have to go back for it." Obviously he wasn't going to be winning any awards for his performance, but he thought they bought it.

Jackson turned around, not bothering to tell them to go ahead without him—they would on their own, he knew. They had no reason to wait for him. It wasn't as if they ever hung out afterwards. Well, Erica, Boyd and Isaac might, but if they did they'd never invited him (not that he would have said yes, if they had).

Just as he was beginning to congratulate himself on his brilliant plan, Erica called after him. "Hey, wait, I forgot my shoes. I gotta go back too," She said. Jackson stopped in his tracks, and grimaced.  _So fucking close._ The universe hated him, this was proof.

Wiping the grimace off his face, Jackson turned around. "You forgot your  _shoes_?" He asked. As far as he could see, she was wearing a perfectly fine looking pair of running shoes.

Erica glared at him, walking back down the alley towards him. Boyd trailed behind her, obviously planning on accompanying her. Only Isaac seemed intent on leaving. "What, you can't wait five minutes for us, Lahey?" Erica asked, crossing her arms.

Isaac grinned, and shrugged one shoulder. "I'm sleeping over at Scott's tonight," Jackson felt his heart skip a beat, "And I said I'd be over when training ended. We're doing pizza and video games with Stiles," Jackson saw Boyd and Erica exchange looks, and Erica rolled her eyes.

Jackson turned away, praying no one could hear the way his heartbeat had just sped up. It didn't seem as if any of them had noticed anything, and if they had, they gave no indication. "Well, I mean it's supposed to be studying," Isaac was saying, "But pizza and video games is what usually happens."

"How lovely for you," Erica said. "Try and fit us into your schedule later this week, will you?"

Isaac grinned again, and shot a finger gun in their direction. "I'll do that." He exited the alleyway and disappeared from view, and Jackson, Erica and Boyd made their way back to the basement. Boyd and Erica chatted about their plans for the evening, but Jackson tuned them out, quietly contemplating his sudden good fortune. Perhaps this was the universe's way of apologizing to him. It had a hell of a long way to go, but this was a start.

Jackson felt someone touch his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. "What?"

"Uh, I just asked what your plans were, for tonight?" Boyd said, looking slightly taken aback. "What are you gonna do?"

At that moment, the basement door opened, and out stepped Derek. He looked surprised, to find them all standing there. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Boyd explained, as Erica ducked under Derek's arm and went down into the basement. "Erica forget her shoes, and Jackson left his jacket."

"And you're what, escorting them?" Derek asked, raising his eyebrows.

Boyd nodded soberly. "Alleys are dangerous places. You never know what kind of lunatics you'll run into there," He looked pointedly at Derek, who glared. Jackson tried and failed to hold in a laugh.

"Don't you have something to get?" Derek asked, turning his glare to Jackson. Jackson smirked at him, and then ducked inside after Erica. The basement was dark, and it took his eyes a minute to adjust. Once they had, however, he found that his jacket wasn't where he left it.

"I've got it," Erica said, climbing out of the subway train and hanging him his jacket. She had a pair of black pumps in her hand, and looked pissed. "He moved our stuff," She told him. "I found them in a pile, in there," She jerked her head back to the train, and walked past Jackson to the basement's exist. Jackson followed. The alleyway now seemed much too bright, in comparison to the dark basement. Jackson had to squint, to keep his eyes from stinging.

"You moved our stuff," Erica said, looking accusingly at Derek. He simply stared at her, uncomprehending. "Which means you  _saw_ our stuff, noticed we'd left it?" More staring. "You couldn't have  _brought_ it to us?" Derek shrugged, and Erica scoffed. "Is this a werewolf thing, or is common courtesy just beneath you?" She looked at Boyd, and together they walked off, leaving Jackson and Derek alone in the alleyway.

Jackson waited a few minutes before he said anything, just to be sure that Erica and Boyd were out of hearing range. Then he turned to Derek, and told him what he'd learned. "Isaac is sleeping at McCalls again," He said.

"What, really?" Jackson nodded vigourously. Derek just shook his head, and scoffed. "You know, he never tells me anything. I mean how hard would it have been to mention that during training?" Derek raised his eyebrows, and Jackson stared at him for a moment before he realized Derek was actually expecting an answer.

"I don't know," Jackson said, scratching the back of his head. This hadn't exactly been the reaction he'd been hoping for. Obviously Derek was not sitting around obsessing about the next time they'd be able to be together, the way Jackson was. Not that he'd really expected him to be, but still... "It probably slipped his mind, during all the punching and kicking and pain."

Derek shook his head again, and crossed his arms over his chest. Evidently this was not nearly a good enough excuse for him. "Well, I take it you're coming over then, right?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, that was sort of the plan," Jackson muttered, glancing from Derek to the ground, and back up again. "If you don't mind."

Derek rolled his eyes at Jackson, in that way that he had where his entire body moved with him. He grabbed Jackson by the scruff of his collar, and hauled him off down the alleyway. "Come on, I'll drive," He said.

Jackson took that to mean he didn't mind.

* * *

Before Derek had moved in to it, the building that his loft was in had been abandoned. Derek had purchased the entire building, although so far he had only bothered to renovate the one area. For this Jackson was grateful, because if Derek had had any neighbours, he was sure that they would have called the cops. It probably sounded like he was being murdered.

"Oh god, stop—stop  _please,_ " Jackson begged, gripping Derek's sheets so tightly that he kept ripping them. "Oh my god,  _no don't actually stop you asshole!_ You better—ah,  _ohfuck..._ "

He was bent over the side of Derek's bed, while Derek was behind him, gripping his hips so tightly that Jackson thought he'd have bruises for the next week. Derek may not have been sitting around obsessing over when he would be able to see him next, but evidently he was just as keen as Jackson to take advantage of the opportunity.

They'd been doing this for hours already, moving haphazardly from the bed, to the couch, onto the floor and then back over to the bed (there'd been a brief interlude involving the kitchen counter, but that had ended quickly, out of respect for Isaac, as Derek pointed out that there was where he tended to eat breakfast. Also, the angle was all wrong). At some point a table had been knocked over, and although Jackson wasn't entirely sure how that happened, there was a dull ache in his left leg that gave him an idea.

Honestly, Jackson didn't really even know how many times he'd come already. He just knew that it had happened a lot; sometimes with Derek inside of him, sometimes into Derek's mouth or hand... or into his own hand, as he used his mouth on Derek.

What Jackson  _did_ know was that it wasn't enough. He needed  _more,_ so much more than this. Jackson wasn't sure what that meant, wasn't sure what the fuck he was looking for, or waiting for—waiting to feel—but he was sure that if anyone could give it to him, it was Derek. He just hadn't yet. But Jackson wouldn't stop trying, because he thought he could feel himself getting  _close._

So close.

Jackson buried his face into Derek's mattress as he came, muffling his screams against the shredded sheets as the orgasm hit him, hard and fast and brutal, as if he'd slammed head first into a brick wall. In his ecstasy, his senses seemed to hyper-focus on Derek. He could hear Derek's breathing quicken, hear his heart pounding inside his chest. Derek's fingers bit into Jackson's hips as he finished inside of him, and when he groaned it vibrated in Jackson's head as if he was hearing it in surround sound.

After a bit of cleaning up, Derek and Jackson collapsed on the bed together. "I definitely... definitely cannot do that again," Jackson declared, running his fingers through his hair. Even that seemed to take more effort than it was worth, and he left his hand flop back down onto the bed. "That was the last time, forever. I'm done."

Beside him, Jackson heard Derek snicker quietly. "You'll be begging me to fuck you  _at least_ twice more before morning." He said, running his fingers gently up and down Jackson's arm.

Jackson smiled. "Possibly."

As Jackson allowed himself to be pulled into Derek's arms and roughly spooned, he heard the rumble of thunder off in the distance. "Guess that storm's finally hitting," He mumbled, his eyelids drooping shut.

"Hmm?"

"The storm. S'been building for weeks..." Jackson yawned loudly. "I can hear it coming." Derek said nothing, and a few minutes later Jackson heard drops of rain pinging against the windows of Derek's loft. "See, told you."

Derek just kissed the back of Jackson's shoulder, and murmured. "I guess you're right."

Sleepily, Jackson smiled to himself.

They both slept for a while then, and when Jackson woke up (unsurprised to find himself half-hard, and feeling that familiar ache, the one that called out for Derek, growing in his belly) he found that the rain was already slowing to a lazy drizzle, making little rivers run down the windows. He wondered if this was all there would be, but when he heard another rumble of thunder a moment later, he had his answer. The thunder was closer now, and that could only mean that of the storm that had been building for weeks, what he was seeing now was only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may end up updating twice this week, because this chapter is largely filler/set-up. And so is the next one, ish. Next week is also has the first of several Allison POV's, which is super weird because she hasn't even appeared in the story at all yet! But hey she's there, and she will be important. And by "important" I mean "important to the plot. The plot that this fanfiction does have." Are you excited? I'm excited.


	6. Darkness

* * *

"I am terrified by this dark thing  
That sleeps in me;  
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity."  
—Sylvia Plath,  _Elm._  


* * *

Allison drummed her fingers against the kitchen table, trying and failing to concentrate on her english homework. She was supposed to be reading chapters five and six of "The Catcher in the Rye," but what she'd really been reading was the same sentence, over and over again, for the last 10 minutes or so.

_I slept in the garage the night he died,_ Allison read, for the umpteenth time. She just couldn't seem to concentrate, and she wasn't even sure why. It was though she could feel some kind of tension in the air, and all week long she'd been unable to shake the feeling that something was coming... or already here. She didn't know what, or how, nor could she explain why she felt this way. All she knew was that it wasn't going away.

_I slept in the garage the night he died._

More than anything, Allison wished she could talk to her Dad about this, this gut feeling that something was wrong. But she knew if she tried, he'd just remind her of the deal they'd made, how they'd both agreed that they were done with things like this. They were living normal lives, free from unshakable feelings of impending doom.

Or, that was the idea, at least. In reality it was proving hell of a lot harder to follow through on. And as much as Allison told herself she was being ridiculous, told herself that she'd been at least somewhat normal for 16 years of her life, and a hunter for only a few months—she was beginning to think that this might just be a part of her now. It wasn't something she could just turn off, like flicking a switch.

Sometimes she wasn't sure what scared her more; the thought that this was just who she was now... or the thought that this was what she really  _wanted_ to be. Was she unable to turn it off because it was inside of her... or because she was afraid to lose it?

_I slept in the garage the night he died._

* * *

Allison's dreams that night were troublesome. Strange images coming at her at the speed of light, jumbled and bizarre but somehow terrifying. It was still the middle of the night when she was jolted awake, gasping and sweating, and feeling strangely nauseous.

Allison sat up in her bed, breathing in slowly through her nose, trying to slow her heart rate. They were just dreams, she reminded herself, nothing that could hurt her. And already, she was unable to even remember what they'd been about. There'd been a knife, she thought... definitely something about a knife. But that was all that was left, nothing more.

Slowly, her heart rate returned to normal. Allison lay back down in her bed, and stared up at her ceiling as she let the sound of the rain hitting her window calm her. It had been raining on and off like this for over a week now, and while it was a pain in the ass when she was rushing out the door to school, completely forgetting to bring an umbrella, she was glad for it now.

Soothed by the sound of the rain outside, Allison closed her eyes, turned onto her side and dreamed no more that night.

* * *

Across town from Allison, Jackson was not finding himself so lucky.

In his dreams, he was drowning in darkness.

The darkness surrounded him, pressed in on him from all sides, cold and wet. He couldn't breath, because he knew that if he drew breath it would let the darkness in, and he would choke on it. All he could do was sink down lower into it, grasping uselessly above him. He'd never felt so helpless before, except for all of the other times this had happened.

It had happened before, Jackson knew, although it did not comfort him. Many times before, if he thought about it. How many times? Had he grown up his whole life, having this dream? Was he reliving a memory, over and over, unable to move past it? Was it possible this fear had always been with him?

It had been, he knew. It had always been this way.

The dream changed. The wet, chlorinated darkness drained away and left him dry in his bed. And not alone.

The dream changed, but the feeling of absolute helplessness did not leave. Nor did the suffocating, choking feeling. It was different, less literal... no less strong. The hands on his body told him they wanted him, that he was so special and so beautiful, and all his... and Jackson could not resist them. Had not even wanted to resist them. What he would have given, to have been allowed to resist. To struggle.

There was a massive clap of thunder, and Jackson woke up in his bed, alone. He was unsurprised to find that he was crying.

Jackson sat up and put his head in his hands, making no effort to quell the tears running down his face. He'd thought this was over. Or, he'd hoped... it had been so long, he'd hoped his nightmares were over. He'd gone over a month without one, over a month without a single gut wrenching nightmare... and then suddenly they were back.

Every night for the last week Jackson had been forced, in his sleep, to relive the worst memories he had. Memories that belong to him, and a few that did not, but were just as terrible to experience again as the ones that were. The nightmares were more vivid than they'd even been, and Jackson was not sure how much long he would be able to stand them, before they drove him insane.

* * *

School had become even more of a chore than usual. Jackson was exhausted, and he felt like absolute shit. And it might have been his might imagination, but he didn't think he was the only one either. In every one of his classes there were kids sitting with their heads down at their desks, sleeping or maybe just unable to think of a reason good enough to sit upright. Just in the time it took him to walk to the cafeteria for lunch, Jackson passed two kids slamming their heads against their lockers, and was almost knocked down by a girl as she ran tearfully past him.

Inside the cafeteria Jackson found Lydia already at a table, lightly sprinkling dressing onto her salad. Allison was sitting with her, and Jackson felt an uncomfortable  _swoop_ in his gut. Of all the pieces of Matt that had been left in his head, he was thankful that his insane romantic obsession with Allison was not one of them. That didn't stop Jackson from feeling awkward when he was around her, as he could still remember the way Matt would think about her, all the images of her he had in his head... not to mention, the incident in the shower. Just thinking about how much Matt had enjoyed that made the bile rise up in his throat.

If Allison was holding any of that against him, she gave no signs of it as he arrived at the table. She was sitting across from Lydia, an unwrapped sandwich in front of her, and a familiar exhausted look on her face.

"Hey," Jackson said, greeting Lydia with a kiss on the cheek. "Hey, Allison," Allison nodded in acknowledgement, absently picking at the crust of her sandwich. "No offence, but you look like crap."

"Jackson!" Lydia exclaimed. "That's incredibly rude," She pursed her lips, and looked Allison over. "I mean, he's not exactly wrong, but it's still rude to say so." Lydia paused. "No offence."

Allison shook her head. "Okay, you guys know that just because you say 'no offence,' it doesn't make what you're saying any less offensive." Jackson and Lydia shrugged, and Allison sighed. "I haven't been sleeping very well lately," She explained, running her fingers through her hair. "I've been having some weird dreams—"

" _Really?"_ Jackson asked, before he could stop himself. "I mean... how long has that been going on for? The dreams?"

Allison chewed on her bottom lip, considering the question. "Uh, they started a few days ago, I guess. Why?"

Jackson looked away, scratching at the back of his neck. "No reason," He muttered. Allison and Lydia both raised their eyebrows. "I've just, I've been having some weird dreams too, lately. Nightmares, I guess."

"You have? Why haven't you told me about that before?" Lydia asked, rubbing the back of his neck with her hand. Her hand was soft and small, not big and rough like Derek's. He hated himself for comparing them, but he couldn't help it. And there was no denying which one he preferred.

Jackson shrugged. "I don't know, it didn't seem important."

"Of course it's important, Jackson." She said quietly. She smiled. "And what's more, I know  _exactly_ how to help." She removed her hand from Jackson's neck, and began rummaging around in her bag. "What you need—what you  _both_ need, is a distraction," She said, pulling out a light blue piece of paper. "And I have the perfect one," She laid the paper out onto the table in front of them, and smoothed it flat.

"Prom?" Allison asked, turning her head to get a better look at the flyer. "I didn't know they'd started putting these up already."

"They haven't yet, they'll be up in a few days," Lydia said. "I know someone on the Prom committee."

"How is Prom going to distract us?" Jackson asked. "The flyer says it's not for two months."

Lydia grinned widely. "But it's  _never_ to early to start campaigning."

"For... ?"

"King and Queen," Jackson groaned, but Lydia raised her hand to silence him. "No, we are doing this, Jackson. It'll be  _good_ for us."

"How is that supposed to help me?" Allison interrupted. "I mean, I'll vote for you guys, obviously, but otherwise I don't really..." She trailed off, shrugging.

"When you say 'good for us,'" Jackson said, "Do you mean good for  _us,_ or do you meangood for our reputations?" He cast a guilty look at Allison, realizing he'd entirely ignored that she'd spoken.

" _Both,_ Jackson. It will help distract you from your troubles,  _and_  help remind the people in this school that we're still alive, and still the best," Jackson rolled his eyes, but decided nothing good would come from contradicting her.

Lydia turned to Allison. "And we'll need all the help we can get, Allison. Making flyers, handing out buttons, and picking out the dress I'll wear when we win. You'll have lots to do."

Allison gave Lydia a tight-lipped smile. "Can't wait," She said.

Jackson folded his arms against his chest, and slumped back in his chair. "Yeah, me neither," He muttered. Lydia and Allison continued to talk about Prom ( _did Allison think she and Scott would be back together by then? Because if they were, they could all take a limo together_ ), and as conversation turned to criticizing the outfits of the new transfer students ( _"I'm being serious," Lydia insisted, "You cannot trust anyone who wears a poncho. The other two are just as bad—sunglasses? In doors, all the time? Does she think she's in a rock band?"_ ) Jackson allowed himself to zone out.

Once his mind had drifted away from Lydia's horror at their peers attire ( _"—and don't even get me started on the_ Penelope _wannabe, how she can even breath under that scarf is beyond me..."_ ) as usual, they turned to Derek. Since the start of the storm the week before, they'd spent no time alone together. Part of Jackson was convinced that that was the cause of his nightmares. If he could just relieve some of the stress he was feeling, maybe they would go away.

There was training after school today, maybe Jackson could find some way to slip Derek a note, asking him to meet him somewhere later... the woods, or maybe they could park Derek's car somewhere and do it in there. Neither of those options were particularly appealing to Jackson, but then neither was reliving another night with Matt. Jackson shivered. No, he wasn't sure how much more of that he could handle at all.

What he would give, to be able to forget it all again. But dwelling on it wouldn't help, and Jackson forced his train of thoughts back to Derek.

Maybe they could get a hotel room. People did that, didn't they? They could split the bill, pay cash... that way they could even spend the night together. He wouldn't have to face another night alone with the dark. The more Jackson thought about it, the more he began to like the idea.

"Jackson? Hello?" Jackson jumped, startled by the sound of Lydia's voice. Lydia raised her eyebrows, regarding him curiously. "What were you thinking about?"

"Uh, nothing," Jackson said, slipping his arm over her shoulder. He smiled, trying to push down the sickening guilt he suddenly felt. Lydia deserved so much better than him, he knew that. He'd failed her too many times to count. "Just, how excited I am for prom,"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Liar," She said, shaking her head.

Jackson swallowed, feeling ill. "Yeah," he muttered, hating himself more by the second. "I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay second update this week! Yay Allison! Boo, no Derek! But yay, plot!


	7. Thunder

* * *

"Back to front the blade tastes blunt,  
In the safety of your bedroom.  
No desire to touch the fire,  
It's just a, just a sad obsession."  
 _—_ The Damned, _Feel the Pain_  


* * *

The storm had finally reached its climax; the wind was howling, rain was coming down in buckets and the sky was so dark it almost seemed as if it were night. Beacon Hills Highshcool was in a state of pandemonium; classes had been ended early due to the storm, and all the students were being evacuated. Those with cars were encouraged to carpool with as many of their peers as they could, and students with no means of transportation were being marshalled into the gym while the teachers rushed around trying to find alternative arrangements, since none of the school buses were running.

The hallways were filled with chattering students, and the noise was driving Jackson insane. He kept picking up snatches of conversations he didn't want to hear, and found himself unable to keep anything out.

"— _of course this happens when I_ just _had my hair done, it's so fruggin' typical—"_

"—what if no one can come get me? I don't want to spend the night here! You 'member what happened the last time students spent the night here!?—"

"— _thank fucking god man, there was_ no way _I coulda done that calculous test today,_ no way _—"_

The teacher's weren't helping either. Mrs. Thompson, the frizzy haired geography teacher, was running up and down the hallways shouting at people not to panic, while not bothering to follow her own advice in the least. Mr. Harris, who was assisting with the evacuation, had reached such a state of frustration that he was mixing in harsh insults with all of his directions. `

" _Mr. Keller's ninth grade math class, is not a single solitary one of you bright enough to follow an instruction as simple as_ stay in a single file and follow your teacher through the doors on the left? _I guess I should have expected as much; if you had more than a handful of braincells all together I'd be talking to Miss. Drummer's ninth grade_ AP _math class!"_

Jackson clamped his hands over his ears, trying to tune out his chemistry teachers grating monotone voice. It hardly helped.

"Jackson!  _Jackson!_ " Jackson spun around, hearing someone call his name. He scanned his eyes around the crowd, and found Lydia fighting his way towards him. It occurred to him that he probably should have been looking for her. "Oh  _thank god,_ I've been looking for you everywhere!" Lydia said as she reached him. Despite the chaos around them, not a single red hair was out of place.

"Yeah, me too—I mean, for you—" Jackson lied.

Lydia smiled at him, and gave him a quick kiss on his mouth. "I've got to run, I've got a full car of people I'm supposed to be taking home,"

Jackson furrowed his brow. "Is that safe, for you to be driving all over town?"

"They're all in my neighbourhood," Lydia explained. "Well, except Tanner, but he's going to stay over at Doug's house,"

"Who?"

"Tanner and Doug," She repeated, as if saying their names again would instantly clue Jackson in to their identities. "I have to go, everyone's waiting for me, I just wanted to make sure you were alright, and had a ride home." She raised her eyebrows. "You do, right? Because I can always kick out Tanner."

"Yeah, I've got my Porsche."

"Good. Well, I'll see you later then," She said, kissing him again. "Drive safe!" She turned around and forced her way back through the crowd of students.

Jackson waited a moment, took deep a breath, and then plunged in as well.

"— _ten dollars says that vein in Harris' forehead is gonna pop by the end of the day, for real—"_

"—swear to fucking god if I don't get the fuck out of here soon my head is

literally _going to explode—"_

"— _sure it's cool with I crash with you? I mean, I don't want to overstay my welcome."_

Jackson stopped in his tracks, recognizing the voice as Isaac's voice, which caused the person walking behind him to crash into his back. ( _"Hey, watch where you're going, guy!"_ ) Jackson ignored him, and searched through the din for the voice he'd just heard.

Finally, he found him. "Because I stayed over like, two weeks ago, remember?" Isaac was saying. "Are you sure it's not—"

"Dude, it's  _fine!_ " Scott told him. Jackson could picture him smiling, clapping Isaac on the back. "I mean come on, it's crazy out there. No way my Mom would want you have to get all the way down to Derek's with the weather like this."

"Alright, if you're sure..." Isaacs voice faded out, and Jackson lost them. It didn't matter, he'd heard what he needed to hear.

With renewed determination, Jackson bolted through the crowd and out of the school.

* * *

Jackson sped down to Derek's building as quickly as he could without killing himself on the slick roads, or attracting the attention of a cop (somehow he didn't think Sheriff Stilinski would accept "I really need to get laid" as a permissible reason for breaking the law. The fact that Derek was an ex-fugitive, probably wouldn't help, either. Or that Jackson was legally a minor). When he got there he hastily parked his car in the alleyway next to the building, and then covered his head with his bag as he ran back out into the rain. He'd only barely dried off from his first trip from the school to his car, and with in the five seconds that it took to run from the alleyway and into the building, he was soaking wet again.

When Derek first opened the door—after Jackson had banged furiously on it for a full minute—he looked surprised. Then his eyes narrowed. "Where's Isaac?" There was a suspicious tone to his voice, as though he suspected Jackson may have murdered Isaac just to get some privacy.

"Hello to you, too," Jackson rolled his eyes as he barrelled in past Derek, dropping his bag off by the door.

"Hello," Derek said, "Where's Isaac?"

"He's with Scott," Jackson explained. "I overheard Scott telling him it was too dangerous for him to come all the way down here in the storm, so he's staying there for the night."

Derek stared at him blankly. "You can't be serious."

"No, that's what I heard..."

"So you're saying that you overheard someone saying that it was  _too dangerous_ to come all the way down here, in this weather, and your first thought," Derek raised his eyebrows, "Was to do  _exactly_ that?"

Jackson shrugged. "Didn't think about it, I guess. I mean, I survived, didn't I?"

Derek shook his head. "That's not the point, idiot." He muttered. He walked over, and ran his fingers through Jackson's wet hair, frowning. "You're soaking wet, how long were you out there?" Jackson shrugged again. He felt as if he should say something witty, or biting, but gave up trying to think of what after a moment of half-hearted searching. Derek's hands were nice and warm, and he had to begun to rub the back of Jackson's neck. It sort of felt like heaven, on his chilled skin. "We should get you out of these clothes." He said, non-nonchalantly. "Wouldn't want you to get hypothermia."

"Okay," Jackson said. He wasted no time stripping off his jacket, tossing it over to the door so it landed in a heap on top of his bag. Then he began to undress.

If Jackson seemed eager, it was only because he was. Even more so than usual. It had been two full weeks since they'd been together (he'd wound up deciding that the hotel idea was stupid, and had said nothing that day) and Jackson had just about reached a breaking a point. He'd been getting less and less sleep every night, desperate to avoid nightmares of drowning, and of killing and of being killed. And worst of all, of Matt and his prying hands and his roaming mouth.

But no matter how hard he tried to resist, sleep always took him eventually. And Matt was always waiting for him.

Jackson needed a distraction. He needed to feel something, something other than weakness or misery. He  _desperately_ needed to get off, and although he wasn't keen to admit it, he needed comfort.

He needed Derek.

As Jackson undressed, Derek stood in front of him and watched, silently. After he'd discarded his shirt, Jackson stared back up at Derek, refusing to feel embarrassed as he unbuttoned his jeans, and pushed them down to his ankles. After a moment's hesitation, he removed his underwear and socks, and dropped them in the pile of clothes at his feet. Then he looked Derek in the eye, and waited.

"Hand me your clothes," Derek said.

"What? Why?" Jackson asked, bending down and quickly scooping up the pile.

"I'm going to put them in the dryer," Derek took the bundle from him, and disappeared up the spiral staircase, leaving Jackson standing completely naked in the middle of his loft.

Jackson just stood there, slowly realizing that it was actually extremely chilly in the apartment. Was there a draft somewhere? Jackson shivered, feeling his skin break out in goosebumps. Worse than the chill was how very exposed ( _and vulnerable_ ) he felt, standing in the open like he was. For a moment he was torn between wrapping his arms over his chest for warmth, or covering himself up. His refusal to feel embarrassment was working just about as well as it would work if he'd decided to refuse to feel the cold.

Jackson wound up compromising, and when Derek descended back down the stairs, he was cupping himself in one hand, for cover, and sort of rubbing his bicep with the other, for warmth.

When Derek saw him, he made a noise that Jackson thought may have been a laugh. It also have been him clearing his throat. It was difficult to tell, although the look in his eye was definitely making Jackson lean towards laughter.

Against his will, Jackson felt his face turn red.

"You look pathetic," Derek said, striding over to him. He certainly sounded amused.

"And that's different from how I usually look in what way, exactly?" Jackson asked, trying to sound tough and defiant.

Derek just smirked at him, and began rubbing the back of Jackson's neck like he'd been doing before. This time Jackson had to physically stop himself from melting into his touch. Jackson was so cold, and Derek felt so fucking warm, and good. His hand was rough, but his touch was gentle. Jackson could have killed him for it, for how good it felt.

"Jesus, you're freezing," Derek murmured. He no longer sounded amused.

Hand still on the back of Jackson's neck, Derek tugged him forward, pulling him against his chest and wrapping his arms around him. And Jackson simply could not help himself from relaxing instantly into them. Nor could he stop himself from whimpering as Derek inclined his head, and began covering Jackson's neck in rough, hungry kisses. "I couldn't really get hypothermia though, right?" He mumbled. There was a sort of vague numbness in his toes, that was beginning to worry him.

"You could," Derek said, speaking against Jackson's neck.

" _What?"_

Derek pulled back, and raised an eyebrow. "We're werewolves, Jackson. Not superheroes. You're not invulnerable."

"Oh..."

"I wouldn't worry about it  _now,_ " Derek continued. Now that he wasn't kissing him, he'd resumed gently rubbing the back of Jackson's neck. Jackson did not mind. "It would be a lot more difficult for you to become hypothermic than it would if you were still human. A lot more than some rain and wet clothes."

Jackson nodded slowly. "But it is possible,"

"There's a point that you reach, where your body becomes so overwhelmed that it can't heal itself anymore." Derek took his hand from the back of Jackson's neck, and cupped his chin instead. "So don't be an idiot, okay?" Jackson opened his mouth to snap that he  _wasn't_ an idiot, but Derek tilted his chin up expose his neck and began kissing it once more, and the words died on his lips. Hypothermia wasn't important, anyways. What was important was Derek's mouth, kissing from curve of his neck right up to the line of his jaw.

At first it had been a surprise to Jackson, the way Derek liked to kiss him. His neck, along his jawline, down his chest... On his knees, Derek would spread Jackson's legs in front of him and kiss from the inside of Jackson's knee all up along his thigh. He would look up at Jackson with cool eyes as he kissed the head of his cock, before taking him into his mouth. Derek kissed his shoulders, and the back of his neck as he fucked him, and he kissed his forehead when he was done, and Jackson was lying in his arms exhausted, embarrassed and finally satisfied.

The only part of him that Derek had not kissed—the only part that Jackson had denied to him—was his mouth. Jackson couldn't say why he denied Derek that, not any more than he could explain why it gave him such comfort, that Derek had never tried to take it.

Now, it was Jackson who was on his knees, and he had neither the patience nor the willpower to take his time with kisses and coyness. Perhaps if Derek allowed him this more often, he'd have it in him to take it slowly. As it was, he was far too eager to sate his own hunger, to even consider it.

Derek had always been quick to go down on Jackson, quick to take him in his mouth as he pushed his fingers inside of him, opening him up before sex. He was quick to give lazy, sloppy blow jobs after they'd already fucked for hours, and had come more times than either of them could count, and Jackson was certain that he couldn't—physically  _couldn't—_ come again, only to be proved wrong every time. And as quick as he was to use his mouth on Jackson at every opportunity, he was just as hesitant to let Jackson touch him the same way. If he'd wanted, Jackson could count the times he'd gone down on Derek on one hand.

But Derek had allowed him to now, and he intended to make the most out of the opportunity.

Jackson was not a talented person. He'd once thought he was, considered himself talented, exceptional, even the best at certain things. But that had been another life, and that person had died. The person he was now knew better. He had little to offer the world, and even less to offer Derek.

But this—this he did have. This he was good at, and he desperately wanted to show that to Derek. Show him that he had a use, that there was a reason for Derek to keep letting him come around. He could give Derek something, something he wanted. Something he could not get from any other person, besides Jackson.

Jackson looked up at Derek as he sucked him off, enjoying the sight; Derek's face was flushed, and his hair stuck up in different direction, from the way he'd run his fingers through it. His other hand was in Jackson's hair, gripping tightly at the back of his head. Something about the way it quivered made Jackson think Derek was holding himself back, stopping himself from pushing Jackson's head further down, forcing his dick even deeper into his throat than it already was. Jackson wished he wouldn't hold back like that, from exactly what Jackson ached for.

Derek was not breathing heavily, but Jackson listened closely and focused on the sound of his breath, until it was amplified in his head. It was quiet, but ragged, and every now and then he would make a noise that was almost a gasp. Jackson listened and heard Derek's heart beat faster, heard his blood pound in his veins and knew it was because of him. Because he  _was_ good at this. Very, very good.

_(And small, cruel voice deep in Jackson's brain whispered_ 'practice makes perfect,'  _but Jackson would not hear that voice. Not right now)._

With one hand Jackson stroked Derek off, moving it in unison with his mouth as he listened, careful and close, listened to what made Derek's breath quicken and his heart pound, listened for the small, almost pained groans that every now and then escaped from Derek's open mouth. His other hand, Jackson used on himself. By the time Derek came into Jackson's mouth, his hand tightening painfully on Jackson's scalp, Jackson had already come twice himself.

Jackson swallowed, relishing the burning at the back of his throat. He pulled away from Derek, and looked up at him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Derek's eyes were wide and his pupils dilated, and he stared down at Jackson with a slightly stunned look. Jackson smirked up at him, feeling extremely pleased with himself. "You—" The way the word stuck in Derek's throat, Jackson would replay in his head for weeks afterwards. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," Jackson said simply. He leaned in, and placed a soft kiss on the head of Derek's prone dick, just as Derek would do to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be a direct continuation of this one.


	8. Lightning

* * *

"Sleep heavily and know that I am here with you now.  
The past is gone, and cannot harm you anymore.  
And while the future is fast coming for you,  
It always flinches first, and settles in as the gentle present.  
This now, this  _us_ , we can cope with that."  
—Cecil Palmer,  _Welcome to Nightvale_  


* * *

"No, Mom, it's fine if I spend the night at Danny's, really. Don't worry."

Derek watched as Jackson rolled his eyes, obviously exasperated with his mother, and her concern for his safety. He paced around the loft as they spoke, wearing only his boxer shorts (which he had insisted on putting on before making the call to his mother. In turn, Derek had reluctantly pulled back on his sweatpants, although he had forgone underwear as it seemed unnecessary).

Outside the loft the rain continued to come down in sheets, and the flares of lightening frequently lit up the room with bright yellow light.

Jackson pressed his finger against his ear, as another loud rumble of thunder drowned out his mothers voice. They had been speaking for roughly five minutes now, which by the look on Jackson's face was about four minutes and thirty seconds too long.

"I'll call you in the morning, alright? I'll be fine. Bye."

Jackson hung up on his mother, and flopped back on the bed with a sigh. He tossed his cellphone away, and seemed unconcerned when it bounced off the bed and clattered to the floor. "Great, now I have a headache," He muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. " _Why_  does she have to ask so many questions?"

There were a lot of things Derek could say to that, absolutely none of which Jackson would listen to. Instead of bothering, Derek smacked him upside the head.

"Hey!" Jackson cried, bolting up and staring at Derek with furious, glowing blue eyes. Derek felt a sinking feeling in his chest, and almost immediately regretted hitting him. It was one thing, when they were training, or sparring, but now... he'd promised himself he'd be better than that now. He was supposed to be less hostile, less violent. "What the hell was that for?!"

For a moment, Derek considered an apology. That's what he should do, admit he was wrong and promise not to do it again.

"For being an asshole," Was what he wound up saying to Jackson. Admitting fault was something easier said than done. He try to would work on that, too.

The blue glow faded from Jackson's eyes, but the glare remained on his face. " _I'm_ an asshole?" Jackson's jaw was clenched tight, and he spoke with a slow, angry deliberation. "You're the  _king_ asshole. No, you're the  _alpha_ asshole. You—" He poked Derek in the chest. "Don't get to call  _me_ an asshole, asshole."

There was an excited glint in Jackson's eyes that undercut his harsh tone. Derek knew he was trying to provoke him. Ignoring his jabs, Derek reached forward to run his thumb over a hickey on Jackson's neck. "This is already starting to fade," He noted. "We should do something about that."

Cupping his hand against the back of Jackson's neck, Derek leaned him back against his headboard and placed his lips against the faded bruise that he had left several hours prior. Jackson's eyelids slid shut. "Mmm, no... don't do that..."

The hair on the back of Derek's neck stood up, and he pulled away. The second he did, Jackson's eyelids flew open again. "For fuck's sake,  _I didn't mean that!_ "

Derek shook his head, exasperated. "And how am I supposed to know that?" It felt like they'd already had this conversation a dozen times already.

"Because I  _never mean it! Why_ is that so freaking difficult for you to understand?" Jackson cried. It almost amazed Derek how quickly Jackson could go from completely relaxed to violently angry. "When I say 'stop,' or 'don't,' or whatever, I don't mean it, alright? I never mean it! Just ignore it, and  _don't stop_ ,"

Derek ground his teeth. "I can't do that, Jackson," He breathed out through his nose, trying to stay calm, no matter how frustrating Jackson was. It would all be so much easier if Jackson would just  _listen_ to him for a change, instead of screaming his head off when he didn't get what he wanted.

Jackson threw his arms up in the air, as though  _he_ was the one who had any right to be exasperated. "Oh right  _of course_ not, because that would be too  _friggin'_ simple—"

"If you would just SHUT UPand listen to me for a moment—" Derek shouted, feeling his eyes burn red. He could feel a vein pounding in his forehead, and obviously, had failed to stay calm. He breathed in again. Jackson, whose expression was caught somewhere in between a glare and a pout, waited quietly for him to speak. "I can't do that, because it's too..." He groped for the right word. "Dangerous." Jackson raised an eyebrow, and Derek decided that that had not been it. "No, that's not..." Derek sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm too scared, Jackson... I'm scared of doing something to you that you don't want."

"But I do—"

"But what if you don't?" Derek said, speaking over Jackson. "If I ignore you, when you say to stop... what if there's a time when you really mean it? When you really need to me to stop, for whatever reason? If you needed me to stop, and I didn't..." Derek looked away, shaking his head. "Don't you understand, that I can't hurt you like that, Jackson? I won't."

Derek glanced back at Jackson, and saw he'd drawn his knees up in front of him. He was chewing on his lip. "Hadn't really thought about that..." He said quietly.

Derek snorted. "Don't worry, I've thought about it enough for the both of us."

Jackson nodded slowly, a far away look in his eyes that made Derek think he hadn't actually heard what he'd just said. Derek sighed, and waited. He'd said what he'd had to say. Now it was Jackson's turn.

"What about a safety word?" Jackson said, after a moment of silence. He lifted his gaze to meet Derek's. "That way you'd know, if I really wanted you to stop."

"A safety word?" Derek raised his eyebrows.

"A word I could say to stop things, other than, you know, 'stop,'"

"I know what a safety word is," Derek grumbled. "I just never thought about having one for myself." He thought for a moment, but could find nothing wrong with the suggestion. "What would the word be?"

"What, I have to come up with everything?" Jackson picked up one of Derek's pillows, and flung it at him. "You think of something."

Derek rolled his eyes, swatting the pillow out of the way. "I don't know," He muttered.

"It could  _literally_ be any word, in any language,"

"Yes I know that, thank you." He glared at Jackson out of the corner of his eye, trying to think of something that would fit. "It should probably something short, easy to say... not something that would come up accidentally..." Derek sighed. "We should just pick something. What's the first word that comes to your mind?"

"Snicklefritz," Jackson replied. He appeared surprised by himself.

Derek stared at him. " _Snicklefritz?_ " He repeated. "What the hell—is that even a word?"

"It was the first thing that came to mind," Jackson muttered, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "And it's not like it's the sort of thing that will come up accidentally." Derek raised his eyebrows at him. "I uh, I think it was the name of the cat on _The Big Comfy Couch_?"

"The Big Comfy what?"

" _Big Comfy Couch,_ " Jackson's face was turning increasingly red, and looked away, avoiding eye contact. Derek couldn't help but smile; he didn't think he'd ever seen Jackson so uncomfortable. "It was a show I watched when I was a kid, okay? I think it might have been Canadian..." He muttered. "We had illegal satellite... it picked up a lot of Canadian channels and shows..."

"Like a kid's show about a couch?"

"It was a really big couch, alright!" Jackson snapped. He looked up and glared at Derek, obviously angry that he was enjoying this so much. "It was about a clown, she had a couch, it was really big—"

"And comfy," Derek interrupted. Jackson's eyes turned blue, and for a moment Derek could have sworn he saw flames in them. He almost felt like laughing.

Jackson ground his teeth together. "You have a better suggestion?"

"I think any suggestion would be a better suggestion."

"Well I don't hear you chiming in with any—" Jackson broke off, and then snapped his fingers. "What about 'time out'?" He asked. The look on his face seemed to suggest this was a stroke of brilliance. Derek raised an eyebrow. "I don't mean time out like when you're a kid and you have to stand in the corner, I mean like... in sports, or something, when you call TO. Time out. It's perfect."

Derek squinted at him. "Why would you have to stand in the corner?"

"If you got in trouble... it was like a punishment."

"They'd make you stand in the corner for punishment?" Derek shook his head. "The more I learn about your childhood, the more you start to make sense to me, Jackson."

Jackson glowered. "We're not talking about my childhood anymore, alright?"

Derek chuckled. "Suit yourself. I guess 'time out' is fine then. Definitely better than  _snicklefritz,_ anyways." Jackson opened his mouth to retort, but Derek didn't let him. "Just promise me something, alright? Promise me that you'll use it. The safety word. You have to swear that if you need to, for any reason, at any time... swear that you will, alright?"

Jackson looked slightly taken aback. "Yeah," He said. "I swear."

"Good,"

"You swear you'll use it too, okay?" Jackson added. Derek stared at him, surprised. "If you need me to stop, you'll use it, right? The words not just for me."

Derek was quiet, unsure why he was so surprised by Jackson's request. Or, why it made him feel so... pleased. "If I want you to stop, I can just say stop." He reminded him.

Jackson rolled his eyes. "That's no fun,"

Derek smiled, and clapped a hand on Jackson's shoulder. "I think we have different ideas about what 'fun' is, Jackson." Jackson smiled tensely back at him, and Derek dropped his arm. "Alright, what's wrong now?" He asked.

"Nothing," Jackson said, in a voice that that Derek recognized to mean  _basically everything._ He waited, and after a moment, Jackson continued. "I mean, it's just... can I ask you something?"

"You just did," Jackson did not look impressed. "Yeah, go ahead,"

"Do you actually like this?" Jackson asked. Again, Derek was surprised. "I mean, do you like what we've been doing? The rough stuff, do you actually like that or... or do you just do it because you know  _I_ like it?"

Derek felt a cool pit open in his stomach, and he turned away from Jackson. For a moment, he considered not answering him. "That's a complicated question," Derek muttered, staring off at the other side of his loft. Behind him, the rain continued to hammer at his windows, and a violent clap of thunder shook the building. He felt Jackson shift over slightly, moving closer to him on the bed.

With difficulty, Derek forced himself to meet Jackson's eye. "Is it?" Jackson asked. Derek didn't think he'd meant the question rhetorically.

Derek sighed. "I do like it," He said, resisting the urge to look away again. When had Jackson become so chatty, anyways? Conversations between them were supposed to be short, usually meaningless things they had to fill up the time between when they'd finished having sex to when they were ready to go again. Definitely nothing long and drawn out like this.

He could feel Jackson staring at him expectantly. Derek clenched his jaw, and tried to force something out. It did not come easily. "But... there's also something about it that feels... wrong, to me." He managed.

Jackson's brow creased, and Derek saw hurt well up in his eyes. Derek grabbed his hand. "I feel like  _I'm_ wrong," He amended, "for liking it. It feels like there's something wrong with me, for hurting you... and enjoying it."

Jackson's eyes were wide when Derek finished, and Derek couldn't tell whether or not he was still upset. But he had been the one who'd asked, after all. All Derek had done was answer him. Would it have been better to lie? He really didn't know the answer to that. The truth was often inconvenient, but since Derek was trying to do better, it had seemed like the right answer to give.

It wasn't an easy feeling to explain—not that Derek could have said that he considered  _any_ feeling easy to explain, but the feelings he felt towards Jackson were especially complicated. Like the way he knew he never wanted to hurt him, and yet still took so much pleasure in hearing him cry out, or gasp in pain. How Jackson frustrated him, and aggravated him to his core... and yet more and more he found himself lying awake at night, thinking about how very lonely his bed felt, without Jackson in it.

Derek couldn't explain any of that, how or why it had happened or whether it was the right or wrong thing for either of them... and as he looked at Jackson, and waited for him to say something, he wondered if he would not be able to understand it either.

And then, Jackson nodded. "Yeah, me too." He said quietly. "I mean... I feel like I'm wrong, for wanting you to do those things to me. It feels like there's something wrong with me... but I can't stop wanting it." Jackson gave him a small, sad smile. "I guess we're both in a pretty fucked up place right now, huh?"

Derek snorted, and pulled Jackson into his arms. It was probably wasn't right, that knowing Jackson felt that way made him feel better... but he did. It was comforting, in a way. He thought back, to what Jackson had said to him, the first time they'd been together after training. About feeling less alone, when he was with him.

Maybe they were both right, to feel so wrong, Derek thought. Maybe what they wanted from each other  _was_  wrong, and they were wrong for not being able to stop it. He ran the back of his fingers over Jackson's cheek bone, feeling the curve of it, and heard Jackson's heart begin to pound in his chest. He wondered how something so simple could still be so exciting to him, after all they'd done together.

"Yeah, I guess we are," Derek mumbled, feeling Jackson's hand slip down the waist band of his sweat pants. "But at least we don't have to be here alone."

* * *

This time there was no holding back.

Jackson had known Derek was holding back, had even wondered in his darker moment if Derek had been doing it on purpose, out of spite... but he hadn't known that he had been holding back as well. Not until he wasn't anymore, did he realize.

It wasn't that it was so different, from the way it had been before... it wasn't, really. It was just...  _more._  Derek pushed harder, used him more cruelly, and while he fucked him began to whisper the most horrible things into Jackson's ear. Dark, twisted things about Jackson, things he knew Jackson wanted him to do and all the terrible things he would to do him later (half of which Jackson knew Derek would  _never_ do to him, but that he enjoyed hearing about, none the less). And Jackson begged and pleaded with him, even demanded that Derek stop. He promised Derek that he would be good for him, do whatever he wanted, if he just stopped for a moment please please  _please..._

It wasn't all that different, but it was what Jackson had been waiting for. Even while it was happening, and he was incapable of formulating thoughts more complex than "oh, god yes," and a repeated notion that he'd very much like to come, he knew it was what he'd been waiting for, the whole time. Maybe it was the freedom of it, of not having to hold anything back from Derek... maybe it was knowing that Derek was holding nothing back from him.

Whatever it was, it was raw, and painful, and  _wonderful_ and Jackson couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd felt more alive. Listening to the rain beat against the windows, as Derek fucked Jackson with his back against the head board, Derek's mouth at his throat and his fangs out, threatening to bite, Jackson couldn't ever remember having felt closer to anyone, either. Lightening flashed and light up the loft as Jackson came, gasping breathlessly and grasping at Derek for support. He tried to say something, maybe Derek's name, but whatever it was he couldn't wrap his mouth around it. And when Derek finished a moment later, Jackson felt a searing pain in his shoulder, and he dizzily realized that Derek had bit him.

"Sorry..." Derek gasped, letting Jackson down as he wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

Chest heaving, Jackson limply relaxed back against the headboard. There was a familiar tickling sensation around the bridge of his nose, and though he briefly considered fighting it, in the end he decided there was no real reason why he should. Jackson's shoulders began to shake, and he felt the first tears prickle in his eyes. Then he put his face in his hands, and began to cry.

"Jackson? Jackson...?" Jackson could hear Derek's voice near his ear, hesitant and quiet. He began to sob harder, and turned his face towards the sound of Derek's voice, buried his face into his chest. Derek wrapped his arms around him, and held him tight as he sobbed and moaned, whispering that it would be alright, he promised. Derek stroked his hair, and promised him it would be alright, and told him that he was safe. And Jackson cried and cried, and as he cried he began to feel as if he was letting go of something, something that had been locked up in side of him for months. Something toxic. And Jackson was crying it all out of his system, ridding himself of that poison drop by drop.

Jackson didn't know how long he cried for, minutes maybe, or an hour. Once he'd finished, he picked himself up from Derek's lap and wiped his face. He felt dizzy, and light. "Are you alright?" Derek asked, his eyebrows knit together in concern. Jackson nodded, and gave him a shaky smile. It steadied somewhat as Derek reached forward and touched his cheek, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. "Was it something I did?" His voice was quiet.

Jackson rolled his eyes, and shook his head. " _No,_ " He told him.

Derek withdrew his hand, and looked Jackson up and down. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Instead of answering, Jackson leaned in and pressed his mouth against Derek's. For a moment Derek did not respond, but simply sat there as Jackson kissed him. Then he pulled Jackson into his arms, and kissed him back, slowly, gently, but with a firmness that made Jackson ache. He wrapped his arms around Derek's neck, and parted his lips further, allowing Derek's tongue to slip between them. Jackson pulled Derek closer, and kissed him harder, and wondered why it was he'd been so afraid to do this before.


	9. Sinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update. At this time, I would like to reiterate the suicide trigger warning that was issued at the start of the fic. Also "graphic violence."

 

 

* * *

"A mermaid found a swimming lad,  
Picked him for her own,  
Pressed her body to his body,  
Laughed; and plunging down  
Forgot in cruel happiness  
That even lovers drown."

—William Butler Yeats,  _The Mermaid_

* * *

 

She'd the had the gun for a week already, before she had the courage to use it. If he'd know long she'd waited, he would have laughed at her. What a silly woman, purchasing a lethal weapon and keeping it hidden in her panties drawer for a entire week, afraid of even looking at it, lest she consider the crime she intended to commit.

But it had to end, and the inevitable could only be put off for so long.

It was a small gun, a  _lady gun,_ she'd read on the internet. Someone had said that in the comments, of the website she'd bought it from. It had seemed to her they'd meant it negatively, but it had made her feel better. It wasn't just a gun, just a cruel piece of metal used for murder and mayhem, it was a  _lady_ gun. That was much nicer, yes. A lady gun.

The lady gun's magazine—that was the little container, that housed the bullets—still had five of its six bullets inside of it, but she would only need the one more. Just the one, and it would all be over. It all seemed so much simpler, and neat if she thought about it like that. That was the most distressing part of it, really. The mess. She hadn't even thought about it until it was right in front of her. Who was going to clean it all up? Did the police have people who did that? She hoped so, but she wasn't sure. Maybe she should have paid more attention to all those cop shows he'd watched, but they'd just all seemed so  _morbid_ to her. She didn't think they was the sort of stuff they'd showed, anyhow. Nothing exciting about cleaning up a mess, was there?

But she did feel terrible about it. Terrible for whoever had to clean it up, and terrible for the poor soul who had to try and sell the house afterwards. Who would buy it, after what had happened? She knew she wouldn't have, although he would have wanted to consider. If it knocked some money off, what did it matter, really? She could get over it, he would have said. He'd always been telling her to get over things. She made things a bigger deal than they were, he'd said.

She wondered what he'd have to say about  _this._ If he could speak, he'd probably say she was being ridiculous, worrying about the mess, of all things! She'd just shot her husband dead in their kitchen, was getting ready to do herself now, and here she was worrying about how they're gonna sell the house! Honestly, what's the matter with her, he'd say.

She smiled to herself, and cast a dark look over to where his body lay on the kitchen floor. He wouldn't be saying  _anything_ to her now. Not with half his mouth missing like it was. No sir, he would not.

Somewhere in her house, a clock chimed, telling her it was eleven o'clock, pm. A familiar little voice whispered in her ear, telling her it was about time to get on with it.

When the little voice had begun whispering to her, at first she'd thought it had been  _his_ voice. His voice in her head, telling her everything that was wrong with her, every way she'd failed every day of her life since she'd been old enough to be in charge of herself. Telling her about what a miserable, useless mess she was. It sounded like the sort of things he'd say.

Now, as she picked up her lady gun and placed it in her mouth, she realized how silly that had been. It couldn't have been his voice, whispering like that. The voice was soft, quiet, gentle. A girls voice.

 _Do it, do it now. End it,_ the girl's voice urged. She would have answered, but her mouth was obstructed by the gun. The gun on her tongue, the neat little lady gun that had seemed so small in her hand but felt so big in her mouth, it didn't taste cool and clean like she'd thought it would. It tasted like a dirty penny. Metallic. Unclean. It made her want to wrinkle her nose, and wash out her mouth. The voice promised her that it didn't matter, the taste of the gun. It was just the bullet that mattered, just that taste. She thought that the voice was probably right. She was only being silly again.

With a last apologetic thought to the poor realtors who would have to deal with her mess, she pulled the trigger.

Somewhere not inside the head of the late Mrs. Helen Thompson, a girl's voice laughed.

* * *

Jackson stood at the edge of the pool, and stared down at his reflection. His reflection stared back up at him, blue and rippling, and somehow he felt as if it was judging him. Honestly, he couldn't say he blamed it. He was pathetic, and he knew it. This, this was pathetic.

It was eleven o'clock on a Friday night, and instead of hanging out with his friends—not that he had much of those anymore—or his girlfriend, Jackson was breaking and entering at Beacon Hill's High School. Again.

"Planning on taking a midnight swim?"

Jackson jumped violently, startled to find Derek standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "Sorry," Derek said, the smirk on his face leading Jackson to believe that he wasn't really very sorry at all. Derek strode away from the door, and stood next to Jackson. "Why'd you call me here?"

"What, I'm only allowed to call you if I'm looking for sex?" Jackson snapped, with a venom he didn't feel.

Derek regarded him with cool eyes. "I didn't say that,"

Jackson ground his teeth, and turned away from Derek to glare the pool again. He wished that for once Derek would rise to his jabs. Anger would be such a great distraction right now. "I need you to spot me," He muttered. He glanced sideways at Derek, and say him raise an eyebrow.

"I don't see any weights in here,"

"Not with weights... I need you to spot me while I'm in  _there,_ " Jackson gestured to the pool. "I need you to make sure I don't  _drown._ "

Derek raised both eyebrows now. Jackson put his hands on his hips, and then changed his mind and crossed his arms over his chest, instead. This was a reasonable request, he felt. People drowned all the time. Derek himself had almost drowned, Jackson remembered glumly, in this exact pool. Still, Derek continued to stare at him, his expression unchanging.

Jackson threw his arms up in the air. "Fine, forget it, just leave," He snapped. He turned away and pulled his shirt over his head, then chucked it away from the pool. "I'll do this myself, I don't need you. Thanks for nothing." He began removing his shoes and socks, and Derek watched him, the same irritating expression on his face.

"You know, you've really managed to turn the act of angrily undressing into an art form, " Derek said, his voice quiet. Jackson stopped what he was doing, and stared him, unsure if he was being complimented or mocked. "I'm not leaving Jackson. You asked me to come, and I'm here. But I want to know why."

"I  _told_ you why—"

"No," Derek interrupted. "I want to know why you need to me to watch you swim." Jackson turned away, and crossed his arms over his bare chest. "You were captain of the swim team,"

"Yeah, I  _know_ that Derek," Jackson rolled his eyes. "Thanks, but my memory's working perfectly fine." He waited for a reply, but was greeted with silence. It was his turn to speak now. Jackson sighed. "That was before. It's... it's different now. I'm..." Jackson ground his teeth together, and looked furiously at Derek, daring him to mock him. "I'm scared."

"Scared of what? The water?" Derek sounded surprised, confused. Jackson let his shoulders relax a bit. He wasn't laughing at him. "That was Matt, Jackson. Not you."

"Yeah, exactly," Jackson mumbled, ducking his chin. He shifted around uncomfortably on his feet. "When you spend a couple of months with someone inside your head, the lines between you and him tend to get a little fuzzy. It's hard to explain." Jackson stared down at the floor, unable to lift his head to look at Derek.

Derek's boots moved into view, a moment before his hands came up to frame Jackson's face, turning it up to face his. "I'm not going anywhere, Jackson. So try."

Jackson had no idea where to begin, but he opened his mouth and spoke anyways. "When Matt was a kid, he drowned. That's why he was so afraid of water... and that's why he killed all those people, because they let him. And I remember it. I remember it like it was something that happened to me. I remember how scared he was, how helpless he felt. It was awful." The words tumbled rapidly out of Jackson's mouth now, and he was helpless to stop them. "Things happen to you when you're a kid, and they just, they change you, forever. It ruined him, it—it killed him, Derek. He never stopped being afraid, never stopped reliving it. And I  _felt_ it, I felt it the way he felt it, and I felt what it did to him. And I can still feel it. And it's driving me crazy." Jackson shook his head miserably, unsure if he felt any better now that it was out there. He let his head drop forward against Derek's shoulder, looking for the comfort of Derek's arms.

Instead of wrapping his arms around him like he'd wanted, Derek lifted his head back up, again framing Jackson's face with his hands and holding his head so that he was forced to look directly into his eyes. "Listen to me, you are not Matt." His voice was stern. "You're not afraid of the water, you never drowned. You can get over this."

"Get over this?" Jackson repeated. He raised his eyebrows.

Derek scowled. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean that you can beat it, you can get through this."

"Matt never did,"

Derek removed his hands from Jackson face. "You're stronger than Matt. He was a weak, scared little creep. He took advantage of you—" Jackson's heart missed a beat, and for a moment he worried that somehow Derek could know. But there was no way he could... none. The only people that knew what Matt had done to him were him and Matt. Matt was dead, and Jackson sure as hell hadn't told him. "and he killed innocent people. You're better than him, Jackson."

Jackson blinked a few times, and stared uncertainly back at Derek. "You think so?"

"I do," Derek pulled his jacket off, and tossed it over to where Jackson's clothes lay in a heap. He put his hands on Jackson's shoulders, and turned him towards the pool. "Now come on, and prove me right."

Jackson looked down at the water for a moment, and then glanced back at Derek. "You promise you won't let me drown, right?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Yes, Jackson, I promise I will not let you drown,"

"Don't patronize me," Jackson grumbled, turning back to the water.

"Don't ask stupid questions," Derek retorted. He nudged Jackson's shoulder. "Get in the water."

Jackson hesitated. "Maybe I should just put my feet in _—arrggh!_ " Jackson shouted in surprise as Derek gave him a firm shove and sent him crashing down into the cold, chlorinated water. He flailed his arms wildly above him as he sank, desperate to propel himself back up. He kicked his legs as hard as he could, and for a second he was sure he was going to drown. It would be just like his dreams, and he would try and try and try to swim up but would only end up sinking down further. And eventually his lungs would fill with water, and he would die.

But then his head broke the surface, and Jackson sucked in a huge mouthful of air. His heart was beating madly in his chest, and as he continued to take in large gulps of air, he turned a furious glare towards Derek.

Derek smirked at him. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

 _"I am going to kill you,"_ Jackson spat.

Derek was unimpressed by the threat. "You know this is why you really called me here," He said.

"To almost kill me?! Somehow I doubt it!"

"To make sure you went through with it," Derek said. "To stop you from chickening out. Which is exactly what you were about to do." He grinned at him. "You're welcome."

Jackson ground his teeth. "Help me up," He said, extending his arm to Derek.

"Oh come on. Give it five minutes, at least—"

"I want to get in on my  _own,_ " Jackson interrupted. "You can't do it for me, it's too easy."

Jackson watched as Derek seemed to consider this. With a sigh, he reached out and took Jackson's hand. But instead of pulling himself up, Jackson yanked down as hard as he could, pulling Derek into the water with him.

Jackson laughed as Derek came back up quickly, sputtering, his eyes glowing red. "Jackson,  _you—_ " He broke off, sputtering again, as Jackson splashed a wave of water into his face. "Alright, now I'm going to kill you."

"You deserved it, for being an ass," Jackson replied, lightly treading away from Derek, in case he tried something.

"You're in a bathing suit, you were prepared for this."

"Yeah, life's hard."

Derek swiped a hand through his hair, brushing wet strands off his face. He smiled. Jackson gulped. "You better start swimming, Jackson," Derek's eyes glinted. "Because when I catch you, I'm gonna make you regret pulling me into this pool with you."

Jackson paused for a moment, considering a reply, and then took off for the other side of the pool as fast as he could. He was sure that he could out swim Derek—he had been captain of the swim team, after all, and Derek would be slowed down by his wet clothes. The trouble would be getting around him on the way back. He supposed he could swim under him, but he wasn't sure how much he wanted to do that.

When he hit the wall on the other end of the pool, for a split second he paused, to check how far behind him Derek was.

Directly behind him. Jackson barely had time to think " _aw, crap"_ before Derek was on him, cornering him back against the pool wall. "Is that really the best you can do?" Derek asked, although Jackson noted that he did sound ever-so-slightly out of breath. He held onto the wall on either side of Jackson, caging him in. Derek was close enough to him that Jackson could count the water droplets clinging to his eyelashes. Their noses brushed together, and when Derek spoke Jackson could feel his breath hot against his lips. "You're out of practice."

There was a slightly chemical taste on Derek's lips as he kissed him, open mouthed and hungry, but Jackson didn't mind it. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he felt a rush of adrenaline as he pushed his mouth back against Derek, gripping Derek's wet hair in his fingers.

Abruptly, Derek pulled away. Jackson, not nearly finished kissing him, tried to move in again, but Derek put a hand on his chest, stopping him. When he whined in protest, Derek grinned at him. "Regretting it yet?" He asked, quietly.

Jackson gaped at him. "Evil," He said. "You're evil." Derek just shrugged, and swam back a little. "Woah, wait, I take that back—I regret it, I do. I'm full of regret." Jackson swam over to him, and wrapped his arms around Derek's neck. "Please, I'm sorry..." He murmured, brushing his lips over Derek's. "Please kiss me."

Derek kissed him.

Jackson lost track of how long they stayed like that, treading water and kissing slowly. He kept his arms wrapped around Derek's neck, clinging to him as if he was afraid Derek would once again swim away. But the fears were unfounded. Derek stayed exactly where he was.

"See, this isn't so bad, is it?" Derek mumbled. He ran his fingers over Jackson's cheek, his eyes questioning. "You seem alright."

"Hmm?" It took Jackson a moment, to realize Derek was talking about being in the pool. He was almost startled to realize that Derek was right. "Yeah... I guess it's not that bad..." he said slowly.

Jackson looked around him, at the rippling blue water and the tiled walls, expecting to feel some surge of panic... but there was nothing. His heart beat had picked up a bit, that was true... but there was no crippling feeling of claustrophobia, no suffocating or choking sensation. Not even the smell of the chlorine—always so horrible, chemical, cloying in his dreams—bothered him. In fact, he sort of liked it. And he remembered, he always had, before.

"I think I should do some laps on my own,"

Derek raised his eyebrows. "Really? Are you sure?"

Jackson nodded. "Yeah," He said, not feeling at all sure. But he was already in the water, after all, and it hadn't killed him... so he might as well see this through.

"Alright," Derek leaned in and kissed him once more, and then pulled away and swam over to the edge of the pool. Jackson watched as he pulled himself up, his wet clothes clinging to his body. It wasn't exactly difficult for him to picture Derek naked (since he'd seen him that way so many times) but the wet clothes made it even easier. "What are you doing?"

"Huh?" Jackson said, and then realized that he had been grinning. "Oh. Objectifying you, I guess."

Derek scowled. "Do you know what objectifying means, Jackson?" Jackson shrugged. "It means to reduce someone to an object, instead of a person. It means to make someone into a  _thing._ "

"Well in that case," Jackson amended. "I wasn't objectifying, I was appreciating." He grinned again.

Derek eyed him suspiciously for a moment, and then shook his head. "Just do your laps," he mumbled. Jackson was sure he could see him hiding a small, pleased smile.

The first few laps around the pool, Jackson did at a slow pace. He felt alright, but somehow he still kept expecting to panic at a moments notice. After a little while he picked up his pace, and by his 20th lap he was even pushing himself, trying to see how fast he could go. He was stronger than he'd ever been, and it was amazing how quickly he would push himself through the water. It was odd, but he realized that he had missed this. Maybe he should break into the pool more often.

Jackson stopped after 30 laps, and swam over to the edge of the pool, near where Derek was leaning against the wall, watching him. "Tired already?" Derek asked.

Jackson shook his head. "I'm going to swim down to the bottom," He said. "Just thought I'd tell you, so you didn't think I was drowning."

"Very considerate," Derek said dryly. Jackson just rolled his eyes. Then he took a deep breath, and plunged down under the water.

The moment his head was under for more than a second, Jackson's heart began to pound. He forced himself to stay calm, and continued down until he hit the pool floor. Then he made himself open his eyes, and look around.

The chlorine stung slightly, but Jackson found that if he concentrated he was able to see fairly clearly. He looked around the pools bottom, and the walls and the steel ladders at either end. It was all very normal. Just a pool. Nothing terrifying floating under the water, waiting to grab him and pull him to his death. No reason to be afraid, at all. Just water.

It was all normal, all totally ordinary... until it wasn't anymore. Jackson turned to his right, and where a moment ago there had only been more pool, a grinning figure floated in front of him, inches from his face. Jackson opened his mouth, as if to scream.

Matt.

Jackson didn't know how, but Matt was floating in front of him. His clothing was in tatters, and his skin had turned a sickly greenish grey, become swollen and wrinkled. Dark black blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth, out of the gaps in his wide grin. And although they were in water, and Jackson knew he couldn't possibly be able to, somehow it was if he could smell the wet stench of decay and rot coming off of him.

Fear paralyzed him. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't be real.

Matt's water logged corpse laughed silently at him, and with pruned grey fingers reached forward and touched his side, just above his right hip. When he touched him, the sensation of his cold, puckered fingers brushing over his skin felt as real as the burning pain in his chest. He needed to breath, he needed to get away... but Matt was there, and touching him, and he couldn't move.

Matt laughed again and this time Jackson could hear it, ringing in his head. At least, he thought it was Matt's. It was higher than he remembered, almost girlish.

Suddenly the water was swirling around them, and Matt vanished before his eyes. Strong arms wrapped around Jackson's waist and hauled him up through the water.

Jackson gasped and sputtered as Derek pulled him out of the pool, and lay him down on the cold tile floor. He couldn't stop coughing, and there was a metallic taste at the back of his throat, like blood. He could hear Derek saying his name, over and over again, and asking if he was alright.

Jackson shook his head, and coughed more. "Matt," He croaked, heaving himself into a sitting position. He tried to stand up, but Derek put his arms around him, and forced him to remain sitting. "It was Matt, I saw him."

"Jackson, calm down," Derek said, not sounding particularly calm himself. "Matt's dead, he wasn't here."

Jackson nodded frantically, needing Derek to understand. "He was dead, he was dead and he was here."

"Jackson—"

"He touched me!" Jackson shouted, his voice hoarse from coughing. "He touched me and I felt it! He was  _there,_ he was in the water with me, please—" He felt tears well up in his eyes, hot tears of panic and fear. "You have to believe me Derek, he was here, he was here and he touched me."

"Okay, okay—" Derek said. He kissed Jackson's temple, and pulled him in against his chest. "I believe you, just calm down."

"You believe me?"

"I believe you saw something, and whatever it was it was strong enough to make you think it touched you." Jackson groaned, and tried to pull himself out of Derek's arms, but Derek held him tight. "Whatever it was, we'll get to the bottom of it, I promise." Derek looked down at him, his face stern. "But there was nothing down there with you, Jackson. I saw. It was just you."

* * *

It was around half past eleven when Allison heard the familiar tune of No Doubts "Just a Girl" playing from her messenger bag. After a bit of digging around, she managed to find her cellphone buried at the bottom. Why was it that no matter where she put it in her bag, that was always where it seemed to wind up? She swiped a finger across the screen to answer the call, and put the phone to ear. "Hey, Lydia,"

"Allison?!" Allison immediately straightened up, hearing fear and panic in Lydia's voice. "Allison I am  _freaking out._ "

"What's wrong?" She asked, already formulating a long list of possible answers in her head. "Where are you?"

"I don't know! I don't know where I am, or how I got here—I don't even remember leaving my house—" Lydia broke off, and Allison heard her sniffing, as though she was trying to stop herself from crying.

"Alright, just stay calm," Allison said, heading towards her door.

"Well, see I  _would_ do that, Allison," Lydia replied, a note of hysteria in her snippy tone. "But in order to  _stay calm,_ I would have to have been calm  _in the first place._ " More sniffing sounds.

"Then stay freaked out," Allison grabbed her jacket from the back of a kitchen chair, and fished around in one of the pockets for her car keys. Her father looked over at her from the couch, and raised his eyebrows questioningly. For the moment, she ignored him. "What do you see around you? Is there anything that could tell you where you are? Or, you have a GPS on your phone, right? Have you—"

"No no, that's  _not_ the problem," Lydia interrupted. Allison paused, in the middle of shrugging on her jacket. "I know where I am—I can see a street sign. I'm at 33 Apple Gold Street. The  _problem_ is that I don't know where the  _hell_ that is. Or, as I may have mentioned,  _how or why I'm standing here!_ "

"I'm coming to get you, okay?" Allison said. She pulled her jacket on the rest of the way. "Hang on," She pulled the phone away from her ear, and turned to her father, who was now standing next to her, looking at her with his arms crossed. "Lydia's in trouble, I'm going to go get her," She explained.

Chris Argent's brow furrowed, concerned. "What kind of trouble?" He asked. "Do you need me to—"

"No, it's fine, Dad," Allison said, turning towards the door. "I can handle it myself." She brought the phone back up to her ear. "Lydia? I'll be there as fast as I can."

* * *

Apple Gold Street, Allison discovered, was a small, quiet street in the middle of a residential area of Beacon Hills.

Lydia was sitting on the curb in front of house number 33, avidly clicking away on her cellphone. She didn't look up when Allison's car pulled up in front of her, nor when Allison sat down beside her on the curb. Allison saw that Lydia was on facebook, on the events page the Prom committee had set up for next week's dance. She looked considerably calmer than she'd sounded on the phone. Too calm, Allison knew, for it to real. 

"Can you believe Cordie Summers?" Lydia said, shaking her head at the phone screen. "She honestly thinks she has a shot against me, for Prom Queen. She's getting so worked up, it's ridiculous. Look, she actually sent me a death threat—" Lydia opened up a private message in her inbox, and turned the screen to Allison. It was a long message, and every other sentence seemed to be written in all capitals. Lydia snorted. "Pathetic."

Allison raised her eyebrows. "Lydia," She said slowly, "What are you doing?"

"Focusing on something simple, Allison," Lydia said, going back to her phone. "Something I can do without thinking." Allison continued to stare at her with raised brows, and after a moment Lydia sighed, and put away her phone. "Alright."

"What's the last thing you remember, before you found yourself here?"

Lydia sighed again. When she turned at looked at her, Allison could see that her eyes were red. "I was in my room, studying. I got up to go get something, and suddenly I was here. I don't remember coming here, although I'm pretty sure I walked, since my feet are killing me."

Allison gritted her teeth, and looked away form her friend. This was too familiar. Lydia blacking out time, going places and doing things with no memory or control. "Do you think—"

"No, I don't. I don't want to think that. I want that to be over."

"I know you do," Allison said quietly. "But we have to look at the facts."

"Maybe it's something else," Lydia said, abruptly standing up. She turned to face the house they were in front of. "I went right to the front door of this house. Why would I do that? Maybe something in there... called me here."

Allison followed Lydia's lead, and stood up as well. She looked at the house, and then at Lydia. "Something like what?"

"How should I know? Isn't this  _your_ area of expertise?" Lydia raised her eyebrows. "I have physics, mathematics and chemistry covered. You're supposed to have the supernatural."

"Actually, I'm retired," Allison gave Lydia a placating smile, which Lydia rolled her eyes at.

"Right, sure you are," She mumbled. Then she shook herself slightly, and strode purposefully forward towards the front door.

"Lydia, what are you doing?" Allison asked, chasing after her. Before she could stop her, Lydia raised her fist and knocked loudly.

"There's only one way to find out why I'm here," Lydia said, more to herself than Allison. "Inside this house are answers. Answers that hopefully do not point to...  _him._ "

"And if they do?" Allison saw Lydia tense.

"Then... we'll deal with it."

No one came to the door, and Lydia knocked again and then rang the doorbell impatiently. "Maybe no one's home," Allison suggested. Lydia didn't seem to feel that was an acceptable answer, and soon Allison was following her around to the side of the house.

"There's a light on," Lydia said, gesturing ahead. " _Some_ one's in there, obviously—" Lydia reached the window, and froze.

"Lydia?" Allison said, approaching slowly. "What's..."

Through the window, Allison could see into the kitchen. Lydia had been right. Someone was in there... but no one was home.

There were two of them in the kitchen. The man was lying on the floor, the bottom off his face blown off. The woman was sitting at the kitchen table, slumped over. Her head was red with blood, and the back of her head had been blown wide open.   
  
Allison had seen a lot of horror over the last year... had caused a lot of it herself, as well. But nothing like this. There was so much blood, sprayed all over the kitchen, and sticky bits of brain and skulls decorated the walls behind the corpses. 

Feeling nauseous, Allison turned to Lydia. She needed to get her out of here. They both needed to get out of here.   
  
Before Allison could say anything, Lydia opened her mouth, and began to scream.


	10. Prom

* * *

"The wasted years, the wasted youth,  
The pretty lies, the ugly truth.  
And the day has come where I have died,  
Only to find I've come alive."  
—Marina and the Diamonds,  _Teen Idol_  


* * *

To no one's surprise, Jackson and Lydia won Prom King and Queen. Lydia was delighted, and though she acted completely taken aback and shocked as they received their plastic crowns, Jackson could see the smugness in her eyes and knew it was all an act. When Lydia Martin wanted something— _really_ wanted it—there was little on this earth that could stop her from getting it. That had always been one of the things he'd loved most about her, to be honest. Others obviously didn't feel the same. Particularly Cordie Summers, a girl Jackson knew more so by reputation than by actual acquaintance, who charged up on stage during their "coronation" and attempted to grab the tiara right from Lydia's head. It took the combined efforts of Jackson, Danny and Stiles to drag Cordie—kicking and screaming that  _she_ was the one who deserved to win—off the stage and out of the gymnasium, where she was barred from returning for the rest of the dance.

Not that this appeared to dampen Lydia's spirits in the slightest. On the contrary, it seemed to make her glow even brighter. After all, something was only  _really_ worth having if someone else wanted it too.

After the first dance of the night, Lydia and Jackson stood off to the side with Allison. Much to Lydia's disappointment, she had not got back together with Scott yet, and thus had come to the dance solo. Lydia felt it was important that Allison not be lonely, and privately Jackson was relieved. If he had to be honest, the whole Prom thing left a stale taste in his mouth. He was happy that Lydia was happy, but otherwise felt empty. None of this mattered, none of it really meant anything... it had once, sure, but now it all just seemed so pointless. What did it matter who was King or Queen of the prom, when monsters like Peter Hale and Gerard Argent and Matt lurked out in the darkness? Would the cheap plastic crown on his head protect him from that? Protect him from the nightmares that kept him tossing and turning in his bed every night?

Jackson was doubtful.

"Poor Cordie," Lydia crooned, her big pink smirk wider than ever. "You don't think she'll get  _suspended_ do you? I mean, I know it was practically assault, but still, how embarrassing."

Allison shook her head, trying to look disapproving but unable to hide her smile. "Yeah, I'm sure you'd feel  _awful_ about that."

Lydia shrugged, and looped her arm around Jackson's. "I only wish the best for poor Cordie," She said cooly. Jackson didn't have to listen to her heartbeat to hear the lie. But since he'd seen the crazed, hateful look in Cordie's eyes as she'd  _lunged_ for his girlfriend, he couldn't exactly find it in himself to feel bad for her, either. She'd looked about ready to rip Lydia's throat out.

Jackson winced then, as a prickling pain shot up his side. He gritted his teeth together. He'd been getting these pains with increasing frequency, ever since the incident at the pool the week before. "Jackson, what's wrong?" Lydia asked, dropping his arm. The smirk and any trace of it was gone from her face as she looked at him, her eyes wide with genuine concern. "Did you get that pain again? The one that's  _nothing?_ "

"It  _is_ nothing," Jackson insisted, putting his arm around Lydia's shoulders.

The look on Lydia's face told him she did not believe him. "Right," she said. "Fine, don't tell me what it is. We'll just ignore it and hope it doesn't kill you," She smiled tightly at him, in that way of hers that always made Jackson think of serial killers.

Jackson smiled back at her, and pulled her in to place a kiss on her temple. "Let's hope," He said. Allison and Lydia rolled their eyes simultaneously.

* * *

Halfway through the evening, while Lydia was off chatting with a group of her friends (she'd made an awful lot of those during her campaign for Prom Queen) Jackson felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He took it out, and saw that he'd received a text message from Derek. It simply said "Come outside. Behind the school."

Jackson smiled, looked around for a moment, and then quickly ducked out of the gym.

The air outside was uncharacteristically cool for May, and Jackson shivered slightly as he walked across the pavement. But then, the weather in Beacon Hills had been so out of whack recently, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised.

Out behind the school, Derek was waiting for him, leaning casually back against his Toyota. When he saw Jackson walking towards him, a grin spread on his face.

"What?" Jackson asked, tucking his hands on his pockets as he approached.

"Nice crown," Derek said. Jackson feels his face flush—he'd forgotten he was wearing it. "It suits you."

"Oh shut up," Jackson replied, fighting the urge to grab the stupid thing off his head and chuck it. When Jackson was in arms reach of him, Derek reached out and grabbed Jackson by the tie, yanking him forward and kissing him, hard on the mouth. And after a long night of pretending, faking and lying, Jackson was only too eager to kiss him back.

"How long do you have," Derek asked, moving away from Jackson's mouth to kiss down along his jaw. "Before they notice you're gone?" Jackson gasped as Derek sucked at the skin on his neck, and then at the lobe on his ear. He pushed his hands up under Derek's leather jacket, trying not to consider how very very easy it would be to rip the shirt right off of Derek's chest...

"Jackson?" Derek pulled away, and put a hand on Jackson's chest to stop him when he leaned back in.

Jackson gave a one shouldered shrug. "Last time I saw Lydia, she was surrounded by a group of admirers," He said. "I could be gone all night and she wouldn't notice,"

Derek smiled, and held his hand against the side of Jackson's face. "Good," he said softly. He ran his thumb lightly over Jackson's bottom lip, and then leaned in and kissed him again.

* * *

Looking around the gym, Allison couldn't help but shake her head; the walls were draped with silver and pale pink tule, and streamers and balloons of the same colours hung from the ceiling. The DJ was playing some kind of techno sounding song Allison had never heard, and all around her people were laughing and dancing, completely oblivious to the dangers of the world outside. She tried to ignore the twinge of envy she felt.

"Doesn't this seem weird to you?" Allison asked Lydia, who was sitting next to her at the table. "I mean, a week ago one of our teachers shot and killed her husband, and then herself. And now we're all partying, like nothing happened?"

Lydia shrugged, looking over her shoulder towards the entrance of the gym. "Not really," She said. She glanced at her, and Allison raised her eyebrows. "What? Allison, if the school shut down every time there was a homicide, nothing would ever get done." Lydia turned away again. "Besides, I think what everyone really needs right now is a distraction. And voila," She said, gesturing out to the dance floor. "Here one is."

Allison sighed. "Maybe," She said, taking a sip of her diet coke. "It just seems... morbid, I guess."

"Mmm," Lydia said, obviously no longer listening. Once more she glanced over her shoulder, and began jiggling her leg under the table. There was an untouched drink in front of her on the table, and she fiddled nervously with the straw for a moment, before glancing over her shoulder again.

"Do you want to just get up and look for him?" Allison suggested.

Lydia looked at her with feigned naivete. "Look for who, Allison?"

"Lydia, you cannot pretend you haven't spent the last 10 minutes looking over your shoulder for Jackson," Allison said. "I've been sitting here watching you, the whole time."

Lydia sighed, and ceased her straw fiddling and leg jiggling. "I don't care where he is," She said stiffly. Allison rolled her eyes. "He's his own person, I'm his girlfriend, not his keeper. He can go and do whatever he wants."

"If he came to the dance with you, it's not ridiculous for you to want him to  _stay_ with you," Allison replied. She looked out onto the dance floor, at all the couples happily enjoying their night.

Off near the bleachers, she saw Scott and Stiles dancing together, doing what looked like a cross between a waltz and the robot, while Isaac stood off to the side and laughed at them. On the other side of the dance floor, she watched Boyd and Erica dancing completely out of tune to the music that was being played. The looks on their faces said that they could not have cared less. "And maybe," She added, watching Boyd spin Erica dizzily under his arm. "You know, dance."

Lydia had once again become very preoccupied with her straw. "It's not that simple,"

"It is that simple," Allison said "It's a dance, he's your date."

"He's been through a lot, Allison,"

"I know that, I'm not saying he hasn't." Allison raised her eyebrows. "But so have you. I mean, have you even talked to him, about finding Mrs. Thompson? Have you even  _told_ him that was you?"

Lydia remained focused on her drink. "I thought the whole point of placing an anonymous phone call was that people  _wouldn't_ know it was us who found them."

"No, the point of the anonymous phone call was so that we wouldn't have to explain to the  _police_ what we were doing there," Allison replied. Lydia still didn't look up at her. "Lydia—"

"Allison, have you ever  _died?_ " Lydia asked, her head snapping up abruptly.

"Uh, no—"

"Have you ever been in a relationship with someone who  _has?_ "

"No," Allison repeated, beginning to see where this was going.

"Well then," Lydia said, a glint in her green eyes. "Until the day comes when you can answer either question in the affirmative, you'll forgive me for ignoring your advice on the subject." Allison looked at her, unimpressed. Lydia sighed. "Look, it's just... it's difficult? Alright?" Lydia said. She looked down, and smoothed out some imagined wrinkles in her dress. "I'm trying to be supportive, and give him space, and be understanding. But... I can feel him pulling away from me." Lydia lifted her head, and the look in her eyes made Allison's heart ache. "Every single day, like he's slipping through my fingers and I just—" She pursed her lips. "I don't know what to do."

Allison reached out, and put a hand on Lydia's. "It's going to be okay," She said. "Maybe he just needs some time."

Lydia smiled thinly at her, and wiped a tear away from her eye, careful to avoid smudging her makeup.

* * *

Jackson gritted his teeth, and braced his hand against the window for support. The glass felt cool under his finger tips.

He and Derek were in the back of Derek's car, kneeling on the leather seats—well, Jackson had one knee up on the seat, and his other leg was on the floor, so he was in a sort of half-kneeling, half-crouching position. Derek was in a similar position behind him, grasping Jackson's hips as he thrust into him.

Jackson gasped, and his hand slid down the glass as Derek fucked him, leaving a trail of condensation behind. He felt one of Derek's hands leave his hip, and Jackson sucked in a sharp breath as he began to slowly jerk him off. Derek slowed the thrusts of their hips down to match the rhythm of his hand. Jackson bit down on his lip.

"Too slow?" Derek asked, his voice low. Jackson nodded his head quickly. Much much too slow. "Good," Derek said. Jackson could practically the smirk in his voice.

Jackson opened his mouth to make some kind of retort, but Derek gave another slow, deep thrust forward and all that wound up coming out was a needy sort of whimper. Derek chuckled quietly. "If only everyone inside could see their prom king now,"

Jackson's fingers grasped uselessly at the cold glass as he came, shaking and moaning, his face flushed. Behind him, he felt Derek slam into him one more time before he finished, still inside him.

In order to save Derek a lot of time cleaning cum off of his car seats, they had both been wearing condoms (which usually wasn't something either of them bothered with, considering how neither could get or give a STD). Derek disposed of them both now—or more accurately, put them in a small plastic bag with some tissues he used to clean them both up, to be disposed of later. Then they settled down together, half-lying across the back seat (it wasn't big enough to permit them to lie down the entire way).

Jackson lay back against Derek's chest, thinking that he should feel a lot more relaxed than he did. There was a strange, queasy feeling in his stomach, and it actually took him a moment to figure out why.

_Matt would have loved to fuck you like this,_ whispered that small, sick little voice in his head.  _Fuck the prom king while the prom was still going on, and no one would be any the wiser. Not even him._

Jackson shifted around slightly on Derek, as the voices words ignited the pain in his side once more. It was dull this time, a throbbing ache instead of a shooting pain, and he was able to hold back a wince.

Derek began to run his fingers through Jackson's hair and kissed the tip of his ear, obviously oblivious to Jackson's inner turmoil. His other hand was lying across Jackson's chest and though he should have felt safe and secure, he couldn't get those terrible whispers out of his head.

"Derek?" Jackson said, turning his head up to look at him.

"Hmm?"

"You didn't mean that, right?"

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Mean what?"

"What you said," Jackson sat up a little. "About wanting everyone to see me like this..."

Derek appeared taken aback. "Of course not," He said. "I never mean any of the things I say during sex, I thought you knew that..." He frowned. "I thought you liked it."

Jackson breathed in slowly, taking in Derek's words. He did know that Derek never meant the things that were said while they were fucking, but it comforted him to hear it anyways. "I did. I  _do,_ really... I just..." Jackson sighed, and lay back down. He stared up at the vans ceiling. "I don't know, that just bothered me, for some reason..."

Derek kissed his ear again, and wrapped his arms over him. "I'm sorry," He murmured, kissing his temple and the top of his cheek. "I won't say it again." Jackson felt Derek's fingers on his chin, and they gently turned his face to the side. Derek looked down at him, and brushed his fingers along his cheek. "I want you to myself, Jackson." He said quietly. "This is just between you and me. Nobody else matters."

Even though those were already things that Jackson had known, hearing Derek saying it left Jackson with an undeniable sense of relief.

Derek leaned in and softly kissed his mouth, his fingers brushing up into his hair once again. And while Jackson had always craved Derek's roughness, lusted after pain and sweat and cruelty, he was beginning to enjoy these softer moments, afterwards, just as much. Derek could be unbelievably sweet, and gentle, when he wanted to be. And a part of Jackson was beginning to think he needed that, just as much as other parts of him needed the pain.

* * *

Jackson showed back up eventually, while Allison and Lydia were standing by the refreshments table with Danny, critiquing people's outfits. Well, Lydia was critiquing people's outfits, while Allison and Danny shook their heads and suppressed smiles, trying to pretend they weren't amused. "I'm not surprised I don't see the circus sisters tonight," Lydia was saying, referring to the three sisters who had transferred to Beacon Hills High School a few months before. She had taken a particular dislike to them, apparently entirely based on the way they dressed. "I guess it's hard to find formal wear that comes in oversized ponchos and massive scarves."

"Or maybe they didn't come because of the  _warm welcome_ they've gotten from their peers," Allison suggested, giving Lydia a pointed look.

"Who's gotten a warm welcome?" Jackson asked, coming up behind Lydia and wrapping his arms around her waist. Lydia squealed slightly, in surprise and delight.

Allison raised her eyebrows, fighting against the urge to penalize Jackson for having disappeared for half the night. It wasn't her place to say something, she knew. Besides, at least he was back now... although she couldn't help but note his slightly disheveled appearance. Jackson's crown was askew on his head, and his hair looked mussed. His clothes were rumbled, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone and he was no longer wearing a tie.

She wondered exactly what he'd been doing for the last hour.

"We were talking about the transfer students," Danny informed Jackson. "And their uh,  _unique_ wardrobes."

"Ah," Jackson said, a knowing look on his face. "Yeah, we don't have any classes together, but Lydia's told me all about them. Repeatedly." Jackson grinned, and kissed Lydia's neck a few times. "This month it's prom queen, next month she's heading up the lynch mob." Lydia rolled her eyes, but Allison could tell she was pleased. This was probably the most attention Jackson had paid her all month. "What do you think, honey," Jackson continued, still squeezing her from behind. "Burning or hanging?"

"Oh shut up," Lydia said, not sounding the least bit upset. She turned around in Jackson's arms, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "What, I'm not allowed to have  _opinions_ now? I just have to silently accept everything as it is? I can't be  _critical_ of the world around me?"

"There's a difference," Danny said, as Lydia and Jackson kissed. "Between critical, and  _homicidal,_ "

Lydia instantly spun around "I'm  _not_ homicidal," She snapped.

At the same time as Lydia, Allison and Jackson said in unison, "She's  _not_ homicidal,"

Allison glanced at Jackson, slightly surprised he'd come to her defence. Then she felt bad. Lydia was his girlfriend, after all. He did care about her, he was just...  _selfish? Self-absorbed?_ Allison decided to go with  _preoccupied._

Obviously having meant it as a joke, Danny was looking taken aback. "Ooohkay," He muttered, taking a sip of his punch.

Lydia flushed slightly, and grabbed Jackson's hand. "No more homicide talk tonight," She said, forcing a cheery tone. "For once, let's all just be normal, okay?"

Allison smiled thinly, and agreed with Lydia. Inwardly, however, she doubted that any of them—besides Danny, perhaps—would every again be capable of "normal." And when she glanced at Jackson a moment later, something in his eyes made her think that he was thinking the same thing.

* * *

For the last week, ever since she and Lydia had found the bodies of Mrs. Thompson and her husband, Allison had snuck out at night to go patrolling. She was very careful to think of it in those terms. She was _patrolling,_ not hunting. And until she knew, for a fact, that there was indeed something to hunt, she would continue to make that distinction.

Allison had patrolled every night for the past week, and the night of prom was no exception. She had put a change of clothes in her car, along with some make up remover, her bow and arrow, and a pack full of various other supplies. Once the dance ended, she changed in her car, and set out for the forrest.

As she walked carefully and quietly through the trees and bushes, she kept alert for a sign of anything that might not be wild life. Truth be told, she had no idea what she was looking for, or what she hoped to find. All she knew was that something had come to Beacon Hills, something she was sure was directly related to the strange dreams she'd been having, a normal geography teachers decision to commit murder/suicide, and the general air of instability that had been hanging over the school for the last two months.

Whatever was it was, whatever it wanted... Allison was going to find it, and stop it. She had made a mistake before, allowed herself to be blinded by her grief and manipulated by a man she'd thought of as her family. She'd done some terrible things, and she would never be able to take that back. But maybe, if she tried hard enough, she would be able to make up for them.

The hair on the back of Allison's neck stood on edge, and without thinking she notched an arrow into her bow, drawing back as she spun around. She paused, finding herself pointing her bow at Derek Hale. It took everything she had not to let the arrow fly.

Derek, tinted slightly green by her night-vision goggles, held up his hands in a sign of submission that she knew better than to trust. "Allison," He said. "Nice goggles."

Allison ground her teeth. "What are you doing out here?"

Derek raised his eyebrows."I was going to ask you to the same thing," He said.

Allison's eyes narrowed, and she pulled the bow back tighter. She was on the verge of telling him that the reasons she was out here were  _her_ business, when she noticed that Derek was holding something in one of his raised hands. A long, thin black piece of fabric was wound around his knuckles. The sight of it sent a strange feeling down her spine. Why did it look so familiar?

"Do you think you could lower that?" Allison blinked a few times, and realized she was still pointing her arrow directly at Derek's heart.

"I could," Allison said.

"Will you?"

Allison smiled, and held the bow steady. Derek sighed. "You should go home, Allison," Derek said. "It's not safe out here. Especially at night."

"I can take care of myself," Allison tried to keep her tone steady. "Besides, I'm not the one on the wrong side of an arrow."

Derek smirked. Allison tried to recall why it was she  _shouldn't_ shoot him, and wasn't really able to come up with anything. "I'm sure you can," He said. "You wouldn't be out here hunting something specific, would you?"

"I'm not  _hunting,_ " She snapped, unable to stop herself. Allison breathed in through her nose, forcing herself to stay calm.

"You're out here for a reason," The knowing looking he gave her made her blood boil. "What are you looking for, exactly?"

"I'm just keeping an eye on things," Allison looked Derek over. There was something very pointed about his questions. As if he were tyring to find out if she knew something. "You never told me why  _you_ were out here, Derek."

Derek smiled again. "Same reason as you," He said. "Just keeping an eye on things."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Then Derek slowly lowered his hands. "Well, I'll be going then," He said. He turned to leave, then glanced back at her over his shoulder. For a moment, she thought he was going to add something. But then he turned back around without saying anything, and walked away.

Allison watched him go, following him with the bow until he disappeared from her sight. Once he was gone, she tried to continue her patrol, but she was too distracted. Derek had put her on edge, and if it wasn't safe to be wandering around the woods at night, then it  _really_ wasn't safe when her mind was on anything other than what she was doing.

She traipsed back to her car, trying to shake the agitated feeling in her gut. Part of her wished she'd shot him—not in the heart or head, of course, but maybe the leg, or shoulder... somewhere non-fatal. Mostly she was glad she hadn't. She'd wanted to, but she hadn't. That had to be a good thing.

When Allison arrived home, it was after one in the morning. Her anger had mostly abated by then, but something about the encounter was still bothering her. For reasons she couldn't quite place, her mind kept going back to the piece of fabric in Derek's hand. Why? It was just a piece of black fabric, sort of looked like a tie—

In the middle of brushing her teeth, Allison froze. Her tooth brush dropped from her hand, as she remembered Jackson coming back into the dance, clothes and hair ruffled, his crown crooked on his head... and no tie.

Allison stared at herself in the mirror, and asked herself what the odds were of the two events being entirely unrelated. Jackson disappearing for an hour during the dance, returning with his clothes rumpled and his tie missing, and later finding Derek Hale with what looked a tie wound around his knuckles. What were the odds, that one had nothing to do with the other?

Allison's reflection stared back at her from the glass, pale and wide eyed. The answer, she knew, was not good.

Not good at all.


	11. Dagger, Part One

* * *

"I know you, I walked with you  
once upon a dream.  
I know you, that look in your  
eyes is so familiar a gleam.  
And I know it's true that visions are  
seldom all they seem."  
—Briar Rose,  _Sleeping Beauty_

* * *

It was not the first time Allison had had this dream. Not the first, but certainly the most vivid.

In her dream, she saw a young girl pulled from her bed, terrified. She was dragged through a forrest by figures in black cloaks. They took her to a clearing where a large fire blazed, and tied her to a post. The girl pleaded with them, begged them to let her go, told them that were mad.  _Sisters,_ she called them.  _Sisters, please._

When the figures shed their cloaks, they were revealed to be young girls, maybe 16 or 17. Her age, Allison thought. These girls—these sisters—began to chant, holding a long dagger with a black hilt over the fire. The girl on the post screamed and cried as she watched as each of her sisters took the dagger and mutilated themselves, chanting all the while. The chanting was not in English. Allison thought it may have been Latin, but she couldn't be sure.

The first sister had her eyes carved out, the second lost her tongue, then her lips were sewn shut. The third sister lost both of her arms at the elbows. Once each body part had been removed, they were tossed into the fire, and as they burned the fire rose up and the smoke turned different colours.

Finally, one of the sisters—the one whose lips had been sewn together—took the knife and turned to the girl on the stake. She began to cry again, and plead for her life. Her sister placed a bloody finger upon her lips, as if to say  _shh._ Then she plunged the dagger into the girls heart.

Allison woke up gasping in her bed. Her head was pounding, she was covered in sweat, and she felt as if she might throw up. She buried her face in her pillow, and waited for it to pass. She'd had this dream before, she was sure. It all felt familiar to her, the girls, the way they'd disfigured themselves, the knife—

Allison's eyes widened, realizing that one of her hands, which was under her pillow, was clasped tightly around something. She lifted herself up slightly, and slowly pulled her hand out from under the pillow. When she did, she found that her fist was close around the black hilt of the same dagger that she had seen in her dreams.

* * *

Erica and Boyd caught him just as he was leaving second period.

"Hey, slow your roll," Erica said, grabbing his arm from behind. Jackson jumped and turned around, and Erica held up her hands. "Woah, sorry."

Jackson glared at her. "What do you two want?"

"The pleasure of your company, obviously," Boyd said. He grinned at him, and Erica snorted. Jackson continued to look unimpressed. "Isaac texted us. There's a meeting going on, out on the bleachers."

Jackson raised an eyebrows. "A meeting?"

"You know, like the Scoobies," Erica said. Jackson furrowed his brow, having no idea what that meant. "What, you never watched  _Buffy the Vampire Slayer?_ "

Jackson just stared at her, and Boyd tapped her arm. "I think the look on his face means  _no,_ " He whispered loudly.

Erica rolled her eyes, and sighed. "It's just what the main characters on that show call themselves. They solve supernatural mysteries and defeat evil. They call themselves the Scoobies, after Mystery Inc from Scooby Do, understand?"

"Not at all."

"Allison would probably be Buffy, if this group was the scoobies," Boyd said, as if this was somehow clarifying something.

Erica frowned. "Wait, would that make all of us Oz?"

Boyd chuckled quietly, and Jackson wore an expression that he hoped conveyed how crazy he thought they both were. "What does any of this have to do with me, exactly?" He asked. "Try and keep it under 100 words, I'm on a schedule."

Boyd raised his eyebrows at him. "You would be Cordelia, Jackson," He said. Jackson had no idea what that meant, but it made Erica laugh hysterically. Boyd seemed pleased by this.

"We came to get you, so we could go to the meeting," Boyd explained. "That's what it has to do with you."

"Why? I didn't get a text. They don't want me there."

Boyd shrugged. "We weren't invited either,"

"But we're crashing anyways," Erica added. "So come on,"

Having no energy left to fight them, and being actually a little bit curious about what was going on—not to mention, he hated being left out—Jackson followed Erica and Boyd out of the school and onto the field.

Allison was sitting at the top of the bleachers and Lydia, Stiles, Scott and Isaac were seated around her. Everyone stopped talking as they approached. Lydia smiled at him, and shoved aside Stiles, who'd been sitting next to her. She patted the now empty spot, and with a glance at Erica and Boyd, Jackson walked up the bleachers and seated himself next to her. Now sitting on the row below, Stiles glared at him. Jackson just smiled, and put his arm over Lydia's shoulders.

There was a moment of tense silence, as if the group was unsure if the intruders should be accepted. Then Scott spoke up."Uh, hey guys," He greeted. Jackson rolled his eyes. Always the damn peace keeper. Scott looked at Allison. "They should probably hear this too."

Erica grinned toothily, squinting to keep the sun out of her eyes. Both her and Boyd had remained standing.

Allison nodded. "Well, I just finished explaining what happened," She said, looking from Jackson to Erica and Boyd. "But the short version is last night I had this... really, really strange dream, and when I woke up..." Allison reached into her messenger bag, and pulled out something wrapped in a towel. "This was under my pillow, in my hand."

Allison opened the towel to reveal a large dagger, with a black hilt.

Everyone was silent again, this time as each of them took in Allison's words. Isaac was the first to speak. "Woah, woah wait a moment," Isaac said. "You're saying that you had a  _dream,_ and  _that_  dagger was in it," He pointed his finger down at the dagger, as though there might be some confusion about  _which_ dagger they were talking about "And when you woke up, the dagger from your dream was under your pillow?"

"Yup," Allison said, nodding her head. "That is what I'm saying."

Isaac grinned. "That's crazy."

Allison glared at him.

"Isaac, a year ago, wouldn't all of us have said the same thing if someone told us werewolves were real?" Boyd asked.

Scott nodded. "Boyd's right. Crazy is kind of the new normal around here."

Isaac sighed. "Awesome."

Jackson was in the middle of rolling his eyes when he noticed that Lydia was staring at the dagger with wide, terrified eyes. "Lydia?" He said quietly, looking from the dagger to his girlfriend. She said nothing, but continued to stare. "Lydia, what's wrong?"

Everyone else had noticed Lydia's pale faced stare now. "Lydia?" Allison said gently.

"Uh, Allison," Stiles piped up, staring at Lydia. "Maybe you should put the magical dream dagger away..."

Allison moved to cover the dagger back up, but Lydia lurched forward and grabbed Allison's arm. "Get rid of it," She said, her voice shrill. Jackson saw her eyes flick from Allison's face to the dagger, and then back again. "Allison, that dagger is... it's..." She swallowed, and stared at the dagger again. "Just get rid of it."

"What?" Allison's brow furrowed in confusion. "Lydia, what's going on?"

Lydia pressed her lips together, shaking her head. Jackson had never seen her like this before, and honestly, it freaked him out. "Lydia, maybe we should get out of here," He said quietly.

She turned and looked at him, and from the look in her eyes Jackson gathered that she would very much like to run far, far away from here. "No," She said. "I want to stay. This is important." She turned back to Allison. "But maybe let's put the athame away for now, okay?"

Again, everyone stared at her.

"Wait, the  _what?_ " Erica asked, crossing her arms.

Lydia blinked a few times. "The athame," She said. From the way her back stiffened, and the forced calm in her voice, Jackson knew that she'd recognized she'd said something off, but was refusing to admit it. "That's what it's called. It's an athame."

"How the hell do you know that, Lydia?" Stiles asked.

"I'd really like to not talk about it, thank you," She said sharply, giving Stiles her serial killer look. Stilinski shrank back a little. Satisfied, she turned back to Allison. "I thought we were putting it away, hmm?"

Allison sighed, and covered the dagger back up with the towel, and then stuck it in her bag. "Good," Lydia said. "We can talk about destroying it later."

"And I don't suppose you're going to explain  _why_ we have to destroy it?" Allison asked. Lydia shrugged.

"Yeah," Stiles agreed. "Is it evil or something? How evil are we talking? What if it's so evil we _can't_  destroy it?" Stiles turned around, and squinted at Allison's backpack as though he was trying to see the dagger through it. "What if it's like a can-only-be-destroyed-in-the-fires-of-Mount-Doom type deal?"

Jackson was pleased to see that this comment was met with a unanimously unimpressed look from the group.

"Uh, see Mount Doom is from the Lord of the Rings—" Stiles started.

"Yeah, we got the reference, chuckles," Erica said, cutting him off. "We just don't care."

Boyd turned away, obviously suppressing laughter. Isaac chuckled, but stopped and hung his head when he received a look of disapproval from Scott. Jackson actually found himself smiling.

"Allison, this dream of yours," Lydia said, steering them back on track. "You've had it before, right?"

"I think so," Allison said. "I mean, this is the first time I've really been able to remember it, but it felt really familiar to me. And I know I've been having weird dreams for a while now, but this is the first time any of the details have stuck."

"Jackson's been having weird dreams, too," Lydia volunteered. She put an arm on his shoulder. "Maybe there's a connection."

Jackson glared at Lydia, and ground his teeth, acutely aware of everyone's eyes on him. There was no scenario that Jackson could imagine in which he would actually  _want_ to talk about the nightmares he'd been having, but discussing them with this particular group of people made the idea seem all the more humiliating. "I've never woken up with a magic dagger until my pillow," He muttered, staring down at Lydia's knees, instead of the curious faces around him.

"What are your dreams about though?" Allison questioned. Jackson was suddenly overcome with the powerful urge to run the fuck away. That was  _not_ a question he wanted to answer. "Did you ever see four girls? Or a knife that looked like the one I had?"

Jackson shook his head. "Nothing like that. It's just..." He shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Typical nightmare stuff. My worst fears, horrible memories, that sort of thing."

"Hmm, uh, yeah..." Stiles mumbled. Jackson glanced at him, and saw he was rubbing his chin and frowning. "How long did you guys say this has been going on for? Little over two months now?"

Allison said, "Yeah, about."

Stiles nodded. "Right. Uh, me too, I think." He nodded again, as if to confirm that he did in fact agree with himself. "Worst fears, reliving really, really bad memories..." He nodded a third time. "Me too. So, yeah, maybe it's connected?"

Jackson groaned. The nightmares were bad enough, but now it meant him and Stilinski were connected in someway? It just kept getting worse and worse.

Stiles glared at him. "I meant maybe there's a connection between what's  _happening_ to us," He gestured back and forth from him to Jackson. "Not between you and me."

"Thank god for that," Jackson muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Has anyone else been having these kind of nightmares?" Scott asked, glancing around.

There was silence, and then Isaac slowly raised his hand. "I have. I mean, it's not every night, but..." He shrugged.

At the bottom of the bleachers, Jackson could see Boyd nudging Erica with his arm, while Erica swatted him away and shot him dirty looks. Finally, Boyd sighed, and stuck up his hand, and pointed to Erica. "She has," He said.

Erica crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine, I've had a few, alright?"

"Anyone else?" Allison asked. Scott, Boyd and Lydia all shook their heads. "Alright, what do we do next then? All we have to go on is a dagger and some nightmares—any suggestions?"

Jackson looked around, and waited for someone else to say something. The answer, he thought, was obvious; they had to talk to Derek. Show him the dagger, tell him that it wasn't just Jackson having nightmares. Whatever was going on, it had to be related to Matt's undead corpse appearing at the bottom of the Beacon Hills High pool, and Jackson knew Derek was looking into that. And he had a lot more faith in Derek's ability to figure this out than—what had Erica called them? The  _Scoobies?_

"We should talk to my boss," Scott proposed.

Jackson failed to stop himself from glaring. "Right, because everyone knows that veterinarians are experts in the occult?"

Scott raised an eyebrow at him. "He's not  _just_ a vet," He said. "He knows things."

"I'm sure,"

"You know, he helped us come up with a few plans to take  _you_ down," Stiles said. "Back when you were a homicidal lizard, I mean." He grinned widely, and Jackson could have punched him. "Remember that?"

"Yeah," Jackson said, through gritted teeth. "I remember."

"Derek will want to know about this," Erica said, drawing Jackson's attention and possibly saving Stiles life. "We should talk to him, too."

Allison scoffed, obviously not a fan of this suggestion.

"She's right," Scott said. His tone of voice sounded as if he were apologizing. "We could use the help."

"Fine," Allison said. "But the dagger stays with me."

* * *

After school, the group split up to pursue their respective leads; Allison, Lydia, Scott and Stiles when to go talk to Scott's boss, and Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Jackson went to Derek's, to talk to him... and his uncle Peter.

Unfortunately, this meant that Jackson was now playing chauffeur to Derek's pack, none of whom apparently owned a car. Erica and Boyd were in the backseat, and Isaac was in the front seat, being more irritating than Jackson would have thought possible.

"Would you cut that out," Jackson snapped, as Isaac switched radio stations for the 17th time. "Just pick one and leave it alone, jesus."

Isaac rolled his eyes, and withdrew his hand. "Sorry,  _Derek,_ "

Jackson's fists tightened on the steering wheel. "Shut up."

"Hey," Boyd said, leaning forward from the back. "Am I'm gonna have to come up there and separate you two?" He asked. Then to Jackson he said, "You should get into the left lane, the turn is coming up."

Jackson shook his head. "I know a faster way."

Boyd raised his eyebrows, and retreated to the back seat. "Okay..."

When they arrived at Derek's loft, Jackson looked around for a car belonging to Peter, but saw none. Either he had walked, which seemed doubtful, or they had arrived before him. Jackson was relieved. The less time he had to spend around Peter, the better. It wasn't that long ago that the man had been trying to kill them, after all—and in Lydia's case, nearly succeeded.

And while he and Lydia had not spoken in depth about what had happened to her, Jackson did know that Peter had essentially possessed her, driven her to the brink of insanity, and used her in order to resurrect himself.

So just because he and Derek had formed some kind of tentative alliance, it didn't mean that Jackson wanted to kill him any less.

Once they were up in the loft, Boyd and Erica began to fill Derek in on the details of what had happened.

"A dagger?" Derek asked, his eyebrows raised. "Under her pillow?" He seemed to consider this for a moment. "Do you think it was a threat?"

Boyd shook his head. "She said she was holding it in her hand. I think it was more like... it had been given to her. Like a gift."

"For the record, most girls prefer jewelry," Erica commented.

Derek ignored this. "And this dream she had... Allison's never displayed any psychic abilities before, has she?" He asked. He looked around at them, but no one answered. "Jackson? You were friends with her, weren't you?"

Jackson shrugged, and glanced at his shoes. He was leaning against the wall, trying to look casual while standing as far away from Derek as he thought he could, without it looking like he was purposefully standing far away from him. "I was," He said stiffly, fighting the urge to look up at Derek. He knew that if he did, it would only fuel he urge to go stand by him. And touch him. And kiss him. None of which were things he could do right now. "We're not really all that close anymore."

Jackson hadn't realized how difficult it would be, being near Derek like this. Just standing around and talking. It was like some strange form of torture.

So far, any other times they'd been together, with the other, it had always been at training. And at least then, Jackson always had something to distract him. Sparring, or weight lifting, or whatever other stupid exercise Derek had come up with to help them hone their senses... and if he ever forgot himself, and found himself looking at Derek, any increase in his heart rate could easily be attributed to the physical exertion.

"I'm pretty sure she's not psychic," Erica volunteered. "She said she's been having these dreams for a couple months now, which is about the same time everyone else seems to have started having weird dreams of their own. And the way she talked about it, it seemed like it was kind of a new thing."

Derek nodded. "If the dreams aren't coming from her, then we have to assume someone's sending them to her." He paused, and then a particularly annoyed expression came over his face. "Peter's here." He said.

Jackson straightened up, and without even meaning to, picked up the sound of a car engine just outside the building. The engine turned off, a car door opened and closed... footsteps.

Around him, everyone was having different reactions to the news of Peter's arrival. Isaac looked apprehensive, Derek looked tired, and Erica and Boyd looked slightly intrigued. Jackson realized that they had probably never had the pleasure of meeting Peter before.

The door to Derek's loft swung open, and in walked a man that Jackson had hoped to never see again. A reasonable hope, he had thought, considering that he had helped kill him.

Peter smiled around at them, and removed the messenger bag he was wearing, placing it on the counter. "So where's this amazing dream dagger I've heard so much about?" He asked. "Can I see it?"

"We don't have it," Derek replied, sounding as if he had already tired of Peter's presence. "Allison kept it with her,"

"It's almost like she doesn't trust us," Erica said, a mocking pout on her face.

Peter turned to her and grinned. "Hello, I don't think we've been introduced yet," He said, looking at her and Boyd. "I'm Derek's uncle, Peter. I don't know what he's told you about me—"

"Just that you murdered his sister, turned Scott, had your throat slit and then almost drove Jackson's girlfriend insane to bring yourself back from the dead," Boyd said. "Oh, and that you were really the 'mountain lion' that killed all those people, a while back." He raised his eyebrows. "Am I missing anything?"

Peter's smile turned tense. "Right, so you're all caught up. Great." He sighed, and turned to Derek. "Do you at least have a picture of the dagger?"

Derek nodded, and glanced at Isaac, who got out his phone and pulled up the picture they had taken after their "meeting" at lunch. He handed the phone to Derek, who passed it on to Peter.

Peter looked at the phone, and frowned. "Hmm," He said.

"It's called an athame," Jackson said, because it didn't seem like the others were going to mention it.

Derek groaned. Peter looked over at him, and Jackson was overcome with violently conflicting emotions; part of him wanted to shrink back, in fear, and the other part of him wanted to charge over to him and rip of his head. "And how do you know that?"

Jackson crossed his arms. "None of your business," He said. Wherever Peter was concerned, he was leaving Lydia out of the conversation.

"Lydia said it," Isaac volunteered. Jackson growled quietly, and bared his fangs at Isaac, who ignored him completely. "At lunch when Allison showed it to us, that's what she called it. She didn't say how she knew."

Peter smiled at that, and Jackson could have murdered him and Isaac right there. "Interesting," He said quietly.

"Do you know what that means?" Jackson asked, looking at Derek. He groaned loudly when Jackson had said it, which led Jackson to believe that the word meant something to him.

"Yeah," Derek said, not sounding at all happy. "It means we're dealing with witches."


	12. Dagger, Part 2

* * *

"Without access to true chaos,  
we'll never have true peace.  
Unless everything can get worse,  
it won't get any better."  
—Chuck Palahniuk,  _Choke_  

* * *

"Witches?" Jackson repeated, staring incredulously at Derek. "How do you know it's witches?"

"The athame, obviously," Peter replied, pulling a MacBook Pro out of his messenger bag. He set it up on the desk at the back of the loft, and began clicking around. "It's a tool used in rituals of witchcraft and magic."

"Oh,"

"Why do I get the feeling that when you say 'witches,'" Isaac said, "You don't mean like  _Sabrina, The Teenage Witch_?"

Derek glared at him. "No, I don't mean like  _Sabrina, The Teenage Witch,_ " He snapped.

"Probably more like  _The Craft,_ huh?" Erica asked.

"No, not like that, either," Derek turned his glare to her.

"Well," Peter amended, looking at them over his laptop. "More like that than the first one."

Derek scoffed. "I hate witches," He muttered. "They're like cockroaches; where there's one, there's a hundred."

"A  _hundred?_ " Isaac looked alarmed. "How are we going to fight a hundred witches? Can we just surrender?"

"Maybe if we had Dorothy," Boyd said. For a moment, even Erica looked confused. Then she laughed, and slapped him on the arm.

"Surrender Dorothy, I get it." She grinned at him. "You're such a sucker for that movie."

Boyd opened his mouth, possibly to deny the accusation that he was a closeted  _Wizard of Oz_ fan, but he was interrupted by Derek, who growled ferociously in their direction, his eyes red. Erica and Boyd shrank back slightly.

"No more jokes, no more movie references," Derek said, in a quiet, menacing tone. "Two people are dead already, do you understand that?" He looked from Boyd and Erica to Isaac, and then Jackson. "You're taking this seriously now, got it?"

All four of them nodded, although Jackson wasn't sure why he was, since he hadn't made a joke in the first place.

Derek looked at them, and after apparently deciding that they all appeared appropriately sombre, turned to Isaac. "And it wouldn't be a hundred witches, that was hyperbole, but considering the amount of people affected, I'd say we're dealing with a fairly large coven."

"How come?" Isaac asked.

"Because to cast their net so wide, they'd need power. A lot of of it. And the bigger the coven, the more powerful the witches." Peter explained. He smirked. "Covens are a lot like packs, in that respect. Some even have an alpha—a head witch."

Jackson raised his eyebrows. "Some?" He directed his question to Derek. "Not all?"

"Another downside, to dealing with witches." Derek grumbled. "There are as many different types of witches as there are types of cockroach."

"Can we stop with the cockroach analogy?" Isaac asked. "I feel very uncomfortable."

Derek turned to him, but Isaac was saved from his response by his phone ringing. They listened to 30 seconds of Justin Timberlake's "Sexy Back" before Isaac was finally able to dig his phone out of his pocket and answer it. "Hey, Scott," He said.

Everyone turned to look at Isaac, waiting to see if Scott's group had discovered any information. "Things are going okay, I guess. Uh, yeah, he's here..." Isaac glanced across the room at Peter, who raised his eyebrows. "No, I mean, he's just been sort of been on the computer the whole time... " Isaac shrugged. "I don't know what he's doing... I guess it could be something evil..."

Peter sat back in his chair, rolling his eyes. "I have a 16 year old keeping tabs on me, unbelievable..." He muttered.

"Oh, yeah, we figured that out, too," Isaac was saying. "Yeah, Peter and Derek knew what the athame was. Hold on, I'll tell them." Isaac pulled the phone away from his mouth. "They know it's witches, too." He said.

"That's great, Isaac," Derek said, as Peter rolled his eyes again. "But do they know anything  _else?_ Like maybe something helpful."

"Uh, one sec." Isaac brought the phone back to his ear. "Scott—oh, yeah? Uh-huh? Oh."

Tired of waiting for all the information to be relayed by Isaac, Jackson focused his hearing and listened in to Scott's end of the conversation.

"—coven that goes back over 200 years," Scott was saying. "Deaton says they steal people's dream. The good ones. They leave people with just nightmares and like, darkness in their heads. He says it can drive people insane. They call themselves dream thieves, which sounds to me like an accurate name."

"What, so we're dealing with witches that are over 200 years old?" Isaac asked.

"Uh, Deaton says that it could be descendants of the original coven, or a coven that's picked up their practices. If it is them."

"Right... hold on again," Isaac took the phone away from his ear once more. "Scott says—"

"Yes, Isaac, we all heard," Derek said impatiently. "You don't have to keep repeating it, we're listening. Does Deaton know for sure it's these… dream thieves, or is this an educated guess?"

Isaac brought the phone back to his ear. "Scott—"

"Yeah, I heard him," Jackson heard Scott say. "Right now, this is just Deaton's best guess, based on what's going on. But if it  _is_ them, he says there's an easy way to find out. There's a test we can do, on someone who's been affected. Hold on, I'm giving the phone to him, so he can explain..."

There was a shuffling sound as Scott's boss presumably took the phone from him. "Derek?"

"Uh, no. Isaac," Said Isaac. Derek rolled his eyes, walked over and snatched the phone from him. "Really rude, Derek..." Isaac mumbled.

"What kind of test?" Derek asked, getting to the point.

"It's fairly simple, but I don't have all of the ingredients we'll need," Deaton explained. He rhymed off a list of apparent ingredients, several of which sounded to Jackson like words he'd made up. However, the list seemed to hold up as credible to Derek. "It will take me a little while to gather everything together."

"I think we have some of those things back at the house," Derek said. "I'll go look and get back to you." Then he hung up the phone, and tossed it back to Isaac.

Isaac caught it, and shook his head. "You're on a roll today, Derek," He said.

Derek furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't say goodbye, you just hung up on that guy," Erica said. She raised an eyebrow. "I mean, were you raised by wolves or something?"

Isaac and Boyd both cracked up at this, and Derek glared at all three of them. "I didn't hang up on him, the conversation was over." He glanced in Jackson's direction, looking for his opinion.

Jackson gave a one shouldered shrug. "You basically hung up on him." He said. Derek scowled. "I doubt he cares. I mean, he knows you, right?"

Erica laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure he knows better than to expect basic manners from you by now," She teased.

Isaac and Boyd continued to laugh, and Jackson allowed himself a small smile. It was nice to feel like it wasn't him being laughed at, for once.

Derek just continued to glare, and muttered that he hated them all.

* * *

Allison, Lydia and Stiles sat around the back room of Dr. Deaton's clinic, waiting in silence. Lydia hadn't taken her eyes off her cellphone for the last 10 minutes, and Stiles hadn't taken his eyes off of Lydia for the same length of time. Allison was looking at Stiles, and wondering if he was aware of how very, very creepy he always acted when Lydia was around. For some reason, Allison had the idea that he was in fact aware, but just didn't care enough to act any differently. Maybe he thought that one day, Lydia would just magically begin finding his behaviour endearing. Allison smiled to herself, knowing that there was no realistic way that would ever happen.

They all looked up as Scott came back into the room, closely followed by his boss. "Sorry, guys," He said. "Sometimes people actually expect you to look after animals, when you're at a veterinary clinic,"

"Well, I for one think that that is rude, and inconsiderate," Said Stiles, sliding out of his chair. "I don't care how much chocolate that dog ate."

Allison rolled her eyes, and saw Lydia and Scott do the same. They had learned a while ago to not bother responding to Stiles'  _interesting_  sense of humour.

"So," Allison said, turning to Deaton. Scott had been right about him knowing things, it seemed. Allison was curious as to why that was—what business did a vet have, knowing so much about the supernatural? But for now, they had more important things to worry about. "How does this test work?"

"Well like I said, it'll be pretty simple to perform," Deaton said. "However, it  _will_ be fairly painful, for whoever we perform it on."

Allison grimaced. Of course.

"Uh, dibs not," Stiles said. He pressed his index finger to the tip of his nose, and raised his eyebrows at them, as though this settled matters.

"Why are you touching your nose?" Lydia asked, staring at him with an arched brow.

Stiles blinked a few times, and then went cross eyed for a moment—Allison could only assume he was looking at his nose, with his finger on it. "Is this not a thing?" He asked. Lydia shook her head. "Oh." Slowly, Stiles withdrew his hand. "Well, I still call dibs on not being the one the painful magic test is performed on."

"You did say you've been having a  _lot_ of nightmares," Scott pointed out.

"So has Jackson!" Stiles protested. "Make him do it,  _he's_ the former lizard-monster,"

Lydia cleared her throat loudly, and crossed her arms over her chest. "I  _really_ don't think that something he had absolutely no control over can be held against him, Stiles."

"Yeah, well... you're sort of bias..." Stiles muttered, slumping back down into his chair. Lydia rolled her eyes.

"Look, why don't we just propose it to Jackson, Erica and Isaac, and if none of them volunteer, than you guys can all draw straws," Scott suggested. "Sound fair?"

Stiles scoffed.  _"No,"_ He mumbled, under his breath.

"Yes," Lydia said. "That sounds fair."

Scott grinned. "Thank you, Lydia."

Stiles let out a long sigh. "Fine, how painful are we talking, exactly? On a scale of one to ten, one being serious discomfort, ten being unbearable mind boggling agony."

Deaton considered this for a moment, and inclined his head slightly. "That depends."

Stiles groaned, and put his head in his hands. "It's a ten."

"Not necessarily," Deaton said. "What the test will be doing is revealing the effects left by the magic."

Allison raised her eyebrows. "The effects... ?"

"Taking someone's dreams away from them is a messy brand of magic," Deaton explained. "Before they can draw the dreams away from someone, they have to expose that part of their minds. While it is possible to create that pathway without causing harm, it takes time and precision. Neither of which this coven has a history of bothering with. And when you break into someone's mind the way they do, it tends to leave evidence. Magical wounds left behind in a person's mind, as if they've been hacked at with a knife." He made a stabbing motion with his hand, to illustrate his point.

"Aw, man..." Stiles groaned. He looked like he was going to be sick.

"Yes, it's supposed to be extremely unpleasant," Deaton said. "And it's no wonder so many wind up losing their minds. However, the crudeness of the magic makes it easy to detect. They've left behind scars and wounds, traces of their work. We can perform a simple test, that will essentially cause the wounds to become inflamed." Stiles groaned again. "The deeper the wounds, the more painful it will be."

Lydia smiled, her lips pressed tightly together. "Sounds fun," She said.

Stiles, looking slightly paler than usual, gave a double thumbs up. "So fun..."

* * *

Peter copied everything he had on dream thieves onto a USB stick, and handed it to Derek. After Derek stared at it with a slightly confused expression for a few seconds, he took it back and gave it to Isaac instead.

"It was nice meeting you two," Peter said, smiling sinisterly at Erica and Boyd. In return, Erica gave him what might have been a smile, and also might have been her barring her teeth at him. Boyd just glared.

Then Peter left, and everyone left out a collective breath.

"So, that was Peter," Boyd said.

"He seems nice," Erica commented. "You should have him over more often." Everyone turned to look at her, wearing identical expressions of disbelief. "Sarcasm," She clarified.

"Oh," Isaac mumbled, turning back around. He'd put the USB Peter had given him on the counter, and was staring at it with an expression that suggested he thought it might explode at any moment. "Your sarcastic voice sounds so much like your usual voice, it's hard to tell sometimes."

Erica shrugged. "That's understandable."

"Alright, if we're all done here, I'm about to starve to death," Isaac said, swinging himself off the stool he'd been slumped over on. "Let's get food,"

"Hey," Derek said, as Erica and Boyd began to gather up their things. "Who said we're done here?"

"He did," Boyd said, pointing to Isaac. "Just now."

Derek glared at him.

"It's not as if we can do anything else, until you and Scott's boss gather up whatever it is you need to perform that test," He continued. Derek kept glaring, but said nothing in response. Erica, Isaac and Boyd seemed to take this as a permission to leave.

"Uh, what about me?" Jackson asked, as the three of them headed to the door.

"You can come eat with us, if you want," Boyd said. Jackson scowled. "We're just going down the street."

"That's not what I meant," Jackson said, crossing his arms. "I'm your ride, remember?"

Erica rolled her eyes. "Waiting around for an hour won't kill you. Do your homework or something."

Isaac smiled. "I'd say watch television, but uh, we don't have one," He shot a very pointed look towards Derek, who scoffed and turned away. "See you two soon. Have fun,"

The three of them exited the loft. Jackson listened to their chatter until they were out of the building.

Derek let out a long sigh, and then collapsed on the couch. "Why do I feel like I've just run three marathons?" He murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

Jackson shrugged, and sat down next to him. "'Hell is other people,'" He said.

"Mmm," Derek agreed. He dropped his hand, and let his head fall back against the couch, closing his eyes. "Was that Sartre?" He asked.

"Huh?"

Derek lifted his head up, and looked at Jackson. "The quote, that's Jean-Paul Sartre, wasn't it?"

"If you say so,"

Derek shook his head. He stuck his arm out and grabbed Jackson by his collar, pulling him towards him. "If you're going to quote someone, you should know who they are," He said, as Jackson lay back against him. Derek wrapped his arm over his shoulder and began to run his fingers through Jackson's hair.

Jackson sighed. He wished he could just shut his brain off, forget about this shitty day and relax back into the comfort of Derek's arms. But something was bothering him, something that demanded to be dwelt on.

He couldn't stop replaying what Scott had said about the dream thieves in his head.  _They steal good dreams... leave people with only nightmares and darkness in their heads..._ That part definitely sounded right to him, and obviously it did to the others as well... but still, something just didn't fit. "He said they make you have nightmares," Jackson said. "But when I saw Matt, in the pool, I wasn't asleep."

_It can drive people insane._

Was that was happening to him? Was he losing his mind, seeing things that weren't there? Jackson's mouth felt dry.

"Is Matt what you dream about?" Derek asked, quietly.

"...Sometimes," Jackson muttered. Most of the time, if he was being honest. He and Derek had never discussed Jackson's dreams at any length before, mostly because Jackson would rather die than do that. But Derek knew he'd been having nightmares, as on more than one occasion, he'd seen Jackson directly after he'd woken up from one.

"Maybe it was just a hallucination, brought on by exhaustion," Derek said. Jackson's back stiffened, and he shook his head slightly. If it had just been a glimpse of him, out of the corner of his eye, maybe then Jackson could have chalked it up to that. He'd been tired, and stressed, and his mind had been playing tricks on him. But it had been more than that. Too vivid, too  _real._

Jackson felt Derek's fingers drift over his cheekbone. "I'll go through everything Peter gave me, alright?" He said. "Maybe that's a side affect, of what they do. Magic isn't exactly an exact science. It's messy, things go wrong."

"Aren't  _we_ magic?" Jackson asked."Werewolves, shape-shifters... isn't that magic?"

Derek raised his eyebrows. "Yeah," He said. "And you of all people should know how messy we can get."

"Right..." Jackson mumbled. "I forgot, I'm the living embodiment of magic gone horribly wrong."

Derek scoffed. "Shut up, Jackson," He said. He turned Jackson's face towards him, and pressed their mouths together before Jackson could voice his offence. The kiss started out soft, but Jackson pushed aggressively back against Derek's mouth, looking for something deeper. Derek responded by grabbing the back of Jackson's head, and crushing their lips together so forcefully that had he still been human, would have left Jackson's mouth bruised.

When he moaned, Derek pulled back, and grinned at him.

Jackson glared, still angry about being told to shut up. "That's not what you're supposed to say,"

"Yeah?" Derek asked, still smirking slightly. "What am I supposed to say?"

"I don't know." Jackson rolled his eyes. "Something nice."

Derek considered this for a moment. "I like that shirt on you," He said. "It's a nice colour, brings out your eyes."

Jackson made a noise of disgust, and turned away. "Asshole," He muttered. Derek responded by kissing the back of his neck. "Careful, you can't leave any marks," Jackson warned. "I won't have enough time to heal, before your pack gets back."

Derek kissed his neck again. "Our pack," He said.

"Huh?"

" _Our_ pack, _"_ Derek repeated.

Jackson understood what he meant this time. "Oh. Right." He sincerely doubted he'd ever feel like he fit in with them. It would always be Derek's pack, and Jackson would always be the outsider.

Derek pulled Jackson back against his chest again, and wrapped both arms firmly around him. After he listened for a moment, and decided he couldn't hear any sounds of Erica, Isaac and Boyd returning, Jackson allowed himself to relax back against him.

For a few minutes, neither of them said anything.

When Derek spoke again, his voice was quiet. "Jackson, that quote you said..."

"What, 'hell is other people?'" Jackson asked.

"Yeah,"

"What about it?"

Derek paused. "It doesn't mean what you think it does."

* * *

Allison waited until she and Lydia were alone before she asked her about the dagger.

They were at Lydia's house, textbooks, notes and study sheets spread out on her bed. Their final exams were coming up soon, and since Allison did not-so-great on her midterms, Lydia had offered to help her prepare. However, considering the events of the day, she doubted that this particular study session would wind up being all that effective.

When Allison had taken out the dagger, to show it to Scott's boss, Lydia reacted the same way she had during their meeting at lunch. Her face had paled, and she'd alternated between staring intently at it, and looking anywhere but.

Allison watched Lydia flip through her chemistry notes. "Lydia?"

Lydia glanced up from the notebook. "Allison?" She replied.

"Think you could tell me about the dagger, now?"

Lydia glanced back down at her notes, and for a moment Allison thought she was going to pretend she didn't know what she was talking about. "I..." Lydia bit her lip, and slowly looked back up. "You... you couldn't hear it, right?"

Allison raised her eyebrows. "Hear what?"

"The dagger," Lydia said. Her voice was quiet and stiff. "You couldn't hear it whispering?"

" _Whispering?"_ Allison repeated. "The dagger was  _whispering?_ "

Lydia turned her eyes up to the ceiling. "You think I'm crazy, don't you? Of course you do, inanimate objects are speaking to me." She looked back at Allison, her eyes full of fear.

Allison reached forward, and put her hand on Lydia's. "I don't think you're crazy," She said.

"You don't?" Lydia asked. Allison could hear the relief in her voice.

"Of course not, Lydia. With everything that's happened to you, and to me—to all of us. Everything that's happening now? How could you think I would think that?" Allison gave her hand a squeeze, and then drew her hand back. "Besides, that dagger was given to me through a dream. If you say it's whispering, I believe you."

Lydia was quiet for a moment. "Thank you, Allison."

Allison smiled at her. "So... what was it saying, exactly?"

Lydia shook her head. "I don't know," She said. "There was more than one voice, and they were all speaking at once. It was hard to make everything out. I heard them call it an athame, and I heard... I heard..." She shook her head again.

"It's okay, Lydia," Allison said gently.

Lydia let out a breath. "It's really not," She muttered. "That knife... it's done horrible things, Allison. They were whispering about it... and I could hear the screaming, too. Not at first, at first it was just the whispering... but under the whispers... horrible screaming. The longer I listened, the clearer I could hear it."

Allison stared at her friend, wide-eyed. "No wonder you said we should destroy it," She said, for lack of anything else to say.

Lydia snorted, humourlessly. "Yeah, you think?"

Without any real decision from either of them, the conversation ended there. They both knew there was more to talk about—what it all meant, why these things were happening to them and what they were going to do about it—but Allison couldn't bring herself to keep making Lydia talk about something that obviously upset and frightened her so much. At least, not yet... not until they had no other choice.

After Dr. Deaton did his test, if turned out he was wrong about the dream thieves, then she would approach the subject again. For now, she let it go.

Allison couldn't exactly say she was looking forward to that... no more than she was looking forward to talking to her about Jackson.

Finding the dagger under her pillow last night had taken priority in her mind today, but what she had seen was still in the back of it. Not to mention, what she was going to do about it. Did she tell Lydia? That should have been the right thing to do, but it didn't feel that way. It would hurt her, and Lydia had already been hurt so much. Jackson was already responsible for a lot of that, too.

So far, Allison had justified her silence with a lack of evidence. Sure, all signs seemed to point towards the obvious—Jackson was cheating on Lydia. And not just with anyone, either. He was cheating on her with Derek Hale, the man who had  _killed_ him. The man who had stood outside Stiles' house, waiting for the members of his pack to drag Lydia out so they could kill  _her._  The man who had killed her mother.

But as much as it looked that way, she needed to be sure. Sure of what Jackson was doing, and sure that it was his choice. She knew that alphas had a certain amount of control over their betas, but she wasn't sure how much. When Peter had been the alpha, he almost forced Scott to kill with him... could Derek be forcing Jackson to sleep with him?

Before she could do anything, she needed answers.

And once she had them, her and Jackson were going to have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote "hell is other" people does not refer to other people sucking, or it being hell to be around others, as Jackson thought. Jean-Paul Sartre is a philosopher who came up with the idea of "the look," which essentially means that we only truly see ourselves through the way other people see us. You don't really see yourself, completely, until others look at you in judgement. That's why hell is other people, because only through them do we fully realize our flaws, and our sins, and our shortcomings.
> 
> So it's actually a very fitting thing for Jackson to quote, as he's a character constantly striving for others approval, who puts so much stalk into the way others see him. But just not for the reasons he thought he was quoting it.


	13. Injured

* * *

"Take me to the edge of that cliff you love,  
and pour me a shot of your silky poison,  
you can take this mouth,  
this wound you want,  
but you can't kiss  
and make it  
better."  
—Daphne Gottlieb,  _Kissing With the Lights On_

* * *

It was 10:34 on Thursday night, and Jackson was sitting in the waiting room of Deaton's veterinary clinic, chewing on his thumb and desperately trying to keep himself from panicking. It wasn't going well.

Erica was across from him, sitting on the counter and looking at something on her phone. Jackson thought she was trying to appear casual, but every now and then she looked over at the door leading to back of the clinic, where the operating room was.

It'd been Erica who had called him. The call barely lasted five seconds.

" _Jackson, Derek's been hurt. Meet us at Scott's work."_

Then she'd hung up.

That had been exactly 46 minutes ago. Since then, he'd learned that Derek had been found in the middle of the woods. Peter was the one who'd found him. He'd brought him to the clinic, called Isaac, and took off the moment he arrived.

Apparently, Derek had been missing since the night before. Jackson hadn't even known. Neither had Erica and Boyd. Isaac, having assumed that Derek had just taken off of his own free will, hadn't felt that it was worth mentioning.

Isaac was currently pacing around the room, back hunched and his arms wrapped over his shoulders as if he was trying to give himself a hug. Every time he walked by him, Jackson fought against the urge to give him a kick.

There was the sound of a door handle turning, and Jackson's head shot up. When Deaton opened the door and walked through it a second later, he got to his feet. Boyd, who had been sitting next to him, did the same. Isaac stopped pacing, and Erica put down her phone.

"He'll be okay," Deaton said. Jackson let out a relieved breath, and the others around him did the same. "He's unconscious now, and he'll need to heal more, but I've treated him, and he'll be fine."

"What happened?" Isaac asked.

"We can't know for sure until he wakes up," Deaton said. "But I think it's safe to say he had a run in with the coven. He has some wounds, but most of the damage was caused by magic. It wasn't physical."

Boyd furrowed his brow. "What's the damage then? What did they do?"

"It seems as if they drained him."

"Drained him?" Erica repeated, a look of vague disgust on her face. "Of what?"

"Power, essentially," Deaton explained. "The essence that all of you have, that makes you what you are. What allows you to heal at an accelerated rate, heightens your senses, your strength... As the alpha, Derek has more of that power than all of you combined. And they took it from him."

Jackson felt himself pale. "They took it?" He looked around at the others, and saw that they all looked just as queasy as he felt.

Finally, Boyd voiced what they were all thinking. "Does this mean he isn't an alpha anymore?"

Deaton shook his head."No, no it's much more difficult than that to permanently strip an alpha of their power. He'll recover in time. But," He added, as they must have all begun looking too relieved. "He  _has_  been seriously injured. Stripping him of his power like that, even temporarily, it nearly killed him. I've augmented his healing factor, but he's still only barely healing himself. Someone will have to stay with him tonight."

Jackson saw Erica, Boyd and Isaac all exchange looks. Obviously, none of them particularly liked the idea of having to spend the whole night playing babysitter. And that was just fine with Jackson. He would watch them all hesitate for a minute, and then reluctantly step forward to volunteer.

"It wouldn't be difficult," Deaton explained, obviously mistaking the reason for their hesitation. "You would mostly just have to keep an eye on him, take away the pain when he needs it. I also have some herbs that he should take, to help him heal. Nothing too complicated."

Boyd looked at Isaac, and raised his eyebrows. "You live with him," He said.

"That doesn't mean I want to spend the next 12 hours holding his hand," Isaac protested.

Deaton frowned. "You know, if the situation was reserved, I'm more than certain that Derek would be more than willing to do the same for any one of you," He said, looking around at them all. Isaac, Erica and Boyd glanced down at their feet.

"Maybe we can take shifts..." Boyd said.

Jackson ground his teeth, hating the logic of that suggestion. Isaac looked in his direction, and Jackson immediately stopped, and attempted to appear casual.

Isaac grinned. "I have a better idea," He said. He clapped a hand on Jackson's back, and squeezed his shoulder. "Jackson can do it."

Jackson felt a rush of gratitude, mingled with suspicion, towards Isaac. "What? Why me?" He sputtered.

"Because you're the new guy. And this definitely seems like a new guy job to me." Isaac removed his hand from Jackson's shoulder, and looked towards the others for support.

"Yeah, definitely a new guy job," Erica agreed.

"Unanimous," Boyd added.

Jackson began to grind his teeth again, trying to figure out how to accept without giving them the idea that they could boss him around. Deaton was looking at him now, his eyebrows raised, obviously waiting for an answer. "Jackson?" He said.

Jackson breathed out through his nose, trying to appear as irritated as possible. " _Fine,"_ He snapped. "But that only works this one time, understand?"

"It works until we figure out how to properly initiate you into the pack," Isaac replied. He turned to Deaton, before Jackson could respond. "Can we see him now?"

Deaton nodded, and led them to the operating room. Derek was lying on the metal table, unconscious as Deaton had said. He was shirtless, and half of his torso was covered in bandages. A few thin scratches on his arms had been left uncovered. He was pale, and there were dark circles around his eyes.

Jackson felt dizzy. "What the hell did this to him?" He asked.

"Well," Deaton said, leaning back against one of the counters. "Judging by the flesh and blood I found under his fingernails, I'd say he did it to himself."

* * *

The drive back to Derek's was long and painful. When Jackson had received Erica's call, he'd left his car at home, and ran to the clinic. Since none of the others owned a car, Deaton had offered to drive Jackson back to Derek's. Isaac had elected to spend the night at Boyd's, because apparently staying at the loft would make him feel guilty about not helping.

They had put Derek in the back seat, and Jackson was riding shotgun. Every now and then he was unable to stop himself from looking over his shoulder to check on him.

"He'll be okay," Deaton said, around the fourth or fifth time he did this. "The Hale's are tough. And stubborn."

Jackson raised his eyebrows. "You know his entire family is dead, right?"

"Yes, Jackson, I do know that."

Jackson looked at Deaton for a moment, considering what he'd said. "Did you know them?" He asked. "Derek's family?"

There was a long moment of silence before Deaton answered him. "I did," He said eventually.

Jackson waited for him to elaborate, but nothing else followed this. "How?" He pressed. "Why? What's your connection to all of this crap? I mean, you're a vet. Is that some kind of special program, in vet school? 'Training to care for dogs, cats and werewolves?'"

Deaton sighed. "I was their emissary." He said.

"Oh, their emissary, of course. Thanks, that explains nothing."

"An emissary is a druid who acts as an advisor, to a wolf pack. We offer counsel, help them learn to control their abilities, teach them."

"Right..." Jackson said, nodding. "What's a druid?"

Deaton sighed again. "Truthfully, I suppose we're a lot of things..." He said. "Druidism is similar to a religion, but to many it's more of a way of life. We may be scholars, philosophers, practitioners of magic. Our main purpose has always been to help maintain the balance."

Jackson raised his eyebrows. "No offence, but you're doing a really shitty job."

Deaton glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then focused back on the road. "Well, Jackson, as much as I've enjoyed this conversation, I really should focus on driving."

"Fine by me," Jackson mumbled. He pulled the visor down in front of him, and spent the rest of the drive watching Derek in the mirror.

* * *

When they arrived at Derek's loft, it took Deaton and Jackson 10 minutes just to haul Derek out of the car, and up to his apartment.

After they managed to lay him down on his bed, Deaton gave Jackson a jar of herbs, which he said were called "fennel." He told Jackson how to brew the fennel into a tea, and said to call him if he thought Derek was getting worse.

Once he left, Jackson stationed himself on the bed next to Derek.

It wasn't easy, to see Derek like this. Derek always seemed so strong to him. Sturdy... solid. An immovable, uncrushable rock. Derek was invincible... wasn't he?

Looking at him lying on the bed, pale and covered in bandages, Jackson was forced to confront the truth of it. All of his strength, all of his power, it was all just an illusion. Derek was just as vulnerable as the rest of them. He could be hurt, he could bruise... he could be broken. Had been broken.

It wasn't an easy thing to realize. Still, Derek was always there for him, picking up the pieces and helping him put them back together again—if not always in the same way they'd fit together in the first place—and now it was Jackson's turn to do the same for him.

Since Derek was still unconscious, there wasn't much that Jackson could do until he woke up. Giving him the fennel tea, changing his bandages (Deaton had given him a supply of fresh ones, and some kind of salve to put on his wounds) were all things Derek had to be awake for him to do. Jackson briefly considered taking off the muddy, grass stained jeans Derek was wearing, and swapping them for a clean pair of sweatpants, but in the end he decided to leave that for when he woke up as well. Even given the circumstances, he didn't feel right about stripping Derek of his pants, without his consent and knowledge.

In the meantime, Jackson stayed by his side, taking away his pain when he thought he needed it, and listening closely to his breathing and heart rate.

Everything was quiet for about two hours; Derek slept, and Jackson alternated between sitting beside him, pacing at the foot of the bed, and snooping around the loft.

He was back to sitting next to Derek on the bed when Derek's heart rate began to pick up. It started beating faster and faster, and Jackson watched as his eyes moved rapidly under his lids, as if he was having a nightmare.

Unsure of what to do, Jackson put his hand on Derek's shoulder—he didn't know if he'd been planning on trying to draw out more pain, or perhaps attempt to shake Derek awake, but it didn't matter. Derek's eyelids snapped open, revealing fierce, angry red eyes under them.

Derek growled, his fangs emerging halfway as he tried to sit up.

"Derek—Derek calm down!" Jackson said, pushing on his chest to keep him from getting up. Derek resisted for a moment, but then his eyes landed on Jackson and seemed to focus slightly.

Derek's eyes faded back to normal. "Jackson?" His voice was hoarse. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Jackson asked, as he gently pushed Derek back down against the bed. Derek shook his head. "You were attacked."

This news seemed both surprising and upsetting to Derek. "I was—what? Who—?" Derek's face seemed to become even paler. "Is it the bullet? Did she shoot me? Am I dying?" Derek groaned, and put his hands over his face. "Oh god, she shot me."

"What? Who—no one shot you, Derek, you're going to be fine—"

"No,  _no,_ she shot me," Derek interrupted. "The bullet, I need the bullet—it'll kill me." He grabbed Jackson by the front of his shirt and yanked him forward. " _Don't let Stiles cut off my arm,_ " He hissed. "Please, I don't want to lose my arm, Jackson."

Again, Jackson pushed Derek back down onto the bed, and removed the shirt from his grasp. He placed his hands on either side of Derek's face, gently stroking his cheeks. He tried to make his voice soothing. "Derek, I don't know what you're talking about, but you haven't been shot, and you're  _not_ dying. And no one is going to cut off your arm."

Derek groaned again, a loud, exasperated groan, as if he was frustrated that Jackson wasn't listening. He shook his head, and shut his eyes. "You don't understand—you don't know—" Jackson leaned back and withdrew his hands, and tried to make sense of what Derek was telling him. "She'll kill me, Jackson, she will..."

"Who will, Derek? Who are you talking about?"

" _Kate Argent._ She shot me... she's torturing me, Jackson. She won't stop."

Unable to think of a way to respond to that, Jackson glanced at his cell phone, sitting on the table across the room. Should he call Deaton, and tell him Derek was delirious? What was he supposed to do?

When he turned back, Derek looked on the verge of crying. A painful clenching feeling began to form in Jackson's chest. He wished that there was more he could do for him. He couldn't recall a time when he'd felt more helpless, or more completely useless.

Jackson brushed some pieces of sweaty hair off Derek's forehead. "Derek, Kate Argent is dead—no, she is. She can't hurt you, I promise—"

Derek shook his head. "She'll kill me," He insisted, "Just like she killed them... she killed all of them, and it was my fault... all my fault..." Jackson just stared at him, still unsure of what to say.

Derek grabbed Jackson's hand, and Jackson saw the urgency in his eyes. "I didn't know," He said. "You have to believe me, I didn't mean to... I didn't know about her." Derek's eyes filled up with tears, and the sight wrenched at Jackson's chest. "I'm so sorry. Promise me, Jackson, if you see them... you have to tell them how sorry I am. Tell them I didn't mean to, okay? Promise me."

Feeling numb, Jackson nodded. "Yeah, Derek, I promise," He said.

This seemed to soothe him, and Derek released Jackson's hand from his grip, and allowed his head to fall back against the pillow. "Thank you..." He mumbled. His eyes drifted closed again, and within moments he was asleep.

After another hour of quiet unconsciousness, during which Jackson did not leave his side for a moment, Derek woke up again.

"Derek...?" Jackson tentatively asked, when he saw his eyes open.

Derek groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What happened?"

Jackson was struck with a terrible sense of  _deja vu._ "You were attacked..." He said slowly. Derek groaned again, and let his hand fall back to his side. "You don't remember anything?"

Derek shook his head. He looked at Jackson with eyes that were tired, but lucid. "Last thing I remember, I was going back to the house, for supplies... then nothing." Derek raised his eyebrows. "Do you know what got me?"

Jackson shook his head. He was glad that Allison's dead aunt no longer seemed to be on the list of suspects. "We were hoping you'd be able to tell us, when you woke up."

"Sorry to disappoint," Derek said. He tried to lift himself up into a sitting position, but Jackson pushed him back down.

"No moving," Jackson instructed. "Deaton says you're not allowed to exert yourself physically, for at least the next 24 hours."

"I guess that means a blow-job's out of the question, huh?" Derek replied. Jackson glared at him, and Derek gave him a weak smile. "Sorry, but I can't help but notice we seem to be alone." He put his hand on the back of Jackson's neck. "Seems like a shame to waste such a rare opportunity."

Jackson stared at him. "Derek, you almost  _died,_ " He said. "Do you understand that? You almost died!  _Died._ I mean, what the hell would I—" Jackson shook his head, unable to find the right words to tell Derek that he was not allowed to die. "You just can't do that to me, alright? You can't leave me here alone. I won't let you."

Derek rubbed the back of his neck, looking at Jackson with a very annoying, patronizing expression. "I'm alright, Jackson," He said. "You won't be alone. I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Jackson said, wrenching out of his grasp. "You're weak and hurt, and I'm taking care of you." He climbed off the bed, and went into Derek's kitchen to begin brewing the tea. "And you're just going to lie there and rest, and let me." Derek opened his mouth, possibly to insist that he was fine, but Jackson held up a hand to silence him. "And every time I hear a word of protest, I'm going to  _stab you,_ understand?"

Derek raised his eyebrows. "I think you may have looked up the wrong definition of 'taking care' of someone."

Jackson just glared at him and continued preparing the herbs.

Unsurprisingly, Derek turned out to be a terrible patient. He kept trying to get up, insisted that he was  _fine,_  and protested constantly. Despite his threats, Jackson never actually wound up stabbing him, as it seemed counter productive to the whole "healing" process. After a great deal of effort, he was able to get Derek to drink the fennel tea and allow him to change his bandages (after some arguing, he gave in and allowed him to change his own pants).

Underneath the bandages, Derek's wounds were still only half-healed. A few were still open, although none of them were bleeding anymore. The wounds were long, deep scratches that led Jackson to believe that Deaton had been right, about Derek doing them to himself.

Derek growled, and bared his fangs as Jackson applied the salve to the wounds. "It stings," He grumbled. "Do you have to—" He broke off, growling again.

Jackson rolled his eyes. "Suck it up," He told him, smoothing the salve over a particularly deep gash. Derek gritted his teeth and moaned loudly. "God, I'm done, okay? The torture is over, stop crying." Jackson grabbed the wad of paper towels he'd brought over, and began cleaning his hands, shaking his head at Derek.

Derek glared at him. "I wasn't  _crying,_ " He snapped. "I was whining. It's different."

Jackson snorted. "Right," He mumbled, tossing the paper towel into the garbage can he'd put by the bed. "Whining like a little bitch is  _much_ manlier than crying like a little bitch." He picked up the roll of bandages, and began winding them over Derek's chest again. Derek was quiet while he did this, but Jackson could feel him glaring. He ignored him, and focused on trying to make his bandage-job look the same as Deaton's. When he was done, he sat back and admired his handiwork. It wasn't perfect, but all of his wounds were covered, so it was getting the job done.

After Jackson cleaned everything up, Derek refused to lie back down, instead insisting on remaining sitting up and leaning back against the headboard, as he'd been while Jackson changed his bandages. Once Jackson finished making a big show of ensuring that Derek knew that he was only allowing this because he was tired of arguing with him over stupid things, he went back to sitting by Derek's side, and curled up under his arm.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Jackson looked up at Derek and thought about what he'd said, when he'd woken up the first time. Did he really feel that way, really blame himself for the death of his family? And what had he meant, about not knowing about Kate Argent?

For the first time, it struck Jackson how very little he really knew about Derek. He felt like he knew him, knew the person he was now, but about his past he knew almost nothing. Where had he lived for the 8 years between the fire and his return to Beacon Hills? Had it just been him and his sister, all alone for that whole time? And before the fire, what sort of person had been then? A normal, happy teenager? It was impossible for Jackson to picture Derek as anything resembling "normal."

"What?" Derek asked, startling Jackson from his thoughts. Jackson realized he'd been staring at him.

Instead of answering, Jackson put his hand on Derek's cheek, leaned in and kissed him. He'd intended the kiss to be soft… gentle. It was Derek who pushed back against him, deepening the kiss, asking for more.

Jackson pulled back before he let himself give in. Derek needed  _rest,_ Deaton had said. And this was not leading to rest. "Derek, don't," He mumbled.

"A few kisses won't kill me, Jackson," Derek said.

"No, but what they  _lead_ to might," Jackson responded. "And as much as I like fucking you, I'm not taking that chance. You remember what I said, about you dying, and how you're not allowed?"

"I do," Derek said. He ran his fingers through Jackson's hair, and brushed his thumb over his cheek. "You said I wasn't allowed to leave you here alone. And I won't, so you can calm down." Derek kissed him, just once. "I won't leave you, I promise."

Jackson studied Derek's face for a moment. Then he nodded, and kissed Derek again, and hoped he knew it meant that Jackson wouldn't leave him either.


	14. Confrontations

* * *

"You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve  
And I have always buried them deep beneath the ground  
Dig them up; let's finish what we've started  
Dig them up, so nothing's left unturned."  
—Bastille,  _Flawed_

* * *

_The monster had no name, and no face, and about itself knew only two things: that it_ was  _a monster, and that it had to obey. Other than these facts, the monster knew nothing of itself, did not even have an identity to know. The voice that spoke in the monsters mind did not belong to it, nor did the voice that spoke from its mouth._

_The monster had to obey this voice, but it was not forced to obey. No more than any other creature is forced to breathe. It simply had to, for that was the way._

_To obey meant to kill. The monster knew this, also. That was its purpose, its only purpose. The monster was a weapon, and a weapon is meant to be wielded. The voice that, the one that spoke in the monsters mind and through scaly lips, was the one who did the wielding. Its master, the one who chose to use their weapon as they saw fit. Whether it be for its intended purpose or for... other things. This the monster did not question. What right did a weapon have, to question the way it was used? Even if it had wanted to, the monster would not even have known how to question Master._

_The monster was nothing. Felt nothing. Those whom it was felled upon would beg it, plead with it through tears,_  please don't please stop please help please,  _not realizing that their pleas fell on ears incapable of listening. It could hear them, hear their crying and choking, and smell the fear that gave the limp meat of their bodies a pungent, tangy odour. But if felt nothing. Could do nothing, but serve its purpose, and its master._

_In his head, Master would laugh as they begged. He heard their_ please stop don't help _'s and laughed, and whispered to the monster,_ "Do it, kill."

_And the monster would obey._

_When it was done, if Master had no other needs, the monster would be sent back the place it stayed in, when it pretended to be a man. It would climb through the window, into a bedroom that belonged to no one. It would make its way to the shower, letting scales give way to foreign flesh, pink and naked, blood stained from the nights work. At Masters urging, blood would be washed from hands that were not its, and when it was done it would stand in front of the mirror and stare back at a face that it did not know._

_And when it did this, the monster would see eyes staring back, see them red and puffy and crying, although it did not know why. And through the darkness of its head, Master would smile and whisper_ "Forget, Jackson. Forget it all."

_And the monster would obey._

When Jackson woke from his nightmare, he did not do so gasping and crying and breathless, screams dying on his lips. No, he was long past that. Now when he woke up, terrified and sick from another horrible nightmare, he simply found himself awake in his bed, covered in sweat and feeling as if he was going to vomit, but still and unshaken. He didn't scream, he didn't cry.

It was better this way, he supposed, but he hated that he was getting used to it. Why did he have to get used to having these horrible nightmares? Why couldn't they just  _go the fuck away?_

Sometimes, when he was at his worst (often, these days) he would tell himself to stop complaining about this. These nightmares, having to relive Matt's abuse and the way he'd murdered all of those people, it was just the punishment he deserved. He had killed, and now he had to pay for that. It was only fair. But these, these new nightmares... did he really deserve those too?

The voice in his head, the voice that at times sounded unmistakably like Matt, told him he did.

Jackson sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes. The clock on his night table told him it was four in the morning. He sighed, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and went to go make himself a cup of coffee.

He could stomach no more punishment tonight.

* * *

Allison stared down at the book in front of her, and told herself that she was going to read it. She didn't even have to read the whole thing—she'd already done that, now she just needed to go through it and find quotes and evidence to support her arguments. Well, the arguments she was going to have, once she got around to actually figuring out her essay.

It was second period, English class. Because exams were so close, their teacher had given them a free period, to study or work on any other projects they had. For Allison, this meant finishing her final essay on  _The Exorcist_ (part of this assignment had put them in groups, with the intention being that they should have discussions on the book while they read it. She had been out-voted on the choice of book, three to one).

The essay was a week late already, but she had managed to get her teacher to give her an extension, and she was determined that she would not let that go to waste.

There was a prickling feeling on the back of her neck, and she was suddenly overcome with the sensation that she was being watched. She swivelled around in her chair, and saw it was one of the new girls, the ones Lydia was always saying she didn't like (although as they'd been in Beacon Hills for over two months now, they could technically no longer be considered new).

The girl who was always wearing the cat eye sunglasses was sitting in the back of the class, staring at her. She turned away when Allison looked, and began instead staring at an empty desk to Allison's left. At least, her head was pointed in the direction of that desk—usually occupied by Cordie Summers—but since Allison couldn't see her eyes, she couldn't say for sure she was still staring at her.

"Is there a problem, Allison?" Asked her teacher, Ms. Stevens, from the front of the room. Allison turned back around, and shook her head no. "Then don't you have an essay to be working on?"

Allison mumbled yes, and tried to make herself go back to her work. She was letting herself get distracted, and at this rate she wasn't going to get any work done. She needed to concentrate.

_Read, Allison, now damn it!_

Allison focused her eyes on the page, trying to push thoughts of all the unpleasant things she was going to have to do today out of her brain. There was nothing she could do about those things right now, and this needed her attention.

She read a few sentences, where in the main character wondered whether a storm was coming her way. Allison underlined the passage, and put a sticky note on the page. It was probably important; in literature, a storm usually foreshadowed the arrival of the plots conflict. Storms brought evil with them, and considering

Allison frowned, thinking back to the huge storm they'd had a few months back, and the way it had rained for days and days before and after it. Hadn't that been when all the trouble had started? The nightmares, the students breaking down and crying in class, panic attacks every single day... and then Mrs. Thompson snapping, and killing herself and her husband. This was their storm... had it been brought by a literal one?

But it couldn't have been. The witches they were dealing with stole dreams, they didn't affect the weather. That storm had been massive, had built for weeks and taken forever to dissipate... even now, the weather was still strange, far too cold and grey for California.

There was no way Dream Thieves could do that, mess with nature so thoroughly. Did that make it a coincidence? Allison wasn't sure she believed in those anymore. So what did it mean?

The obvious conclusion stared Allison in the face. Tomorrow, they were all supposed to gather after school at Dr. Deaton's, to perform a test that would show them if they were dealing with Dream Thieves.

Allison could not help thinking that she already knew what that test would say.

* * *

At lunch time, Allison found Isaac in the hallway at his locker. "Hi,"

Isaac jumped a foot in the air, and slammed his locker closed. When he turned to look at her, he seemed to press himself back against it, as if trying to get away from her. "What?" He blurted.

Allison tried not to let his reaction hurt her. She was the one who had stabbed him, it only made sense for him to not want to be around her. It was her fault. "I need to talk to you."

Isaac frowned, and glanced to his side. She thought he was looking for an escape route. Or maybe just considering bolting, since he could certainly outrun her if he chose. "Uh, about what?"

Allison hesitated. "It's… complicated," She said.

Isaac raised his eyebrows. "Well then uncomplicate it," He crossed his arms over his chest.

Allison sighed. How could she phrase her question, to see if Isaac knew about Jackson and Derek, without actually telling him what she was asking about, in case he  _didn't_ know? "Well..." She began. "I was wondering, if you knew about..." She pursed her lips, and then tried a different approach. "Packs are close, right?" She asked.

"Uh, yeah, I guess."

"So, if two people in the pack were… say, sleeping with each other—"

Isaac laughed. "Is this about Derek and Jackson?" He asked.

Allison felt a moment of relief. "So you do know about them?"

"Come on, everyone does,"

Allison raised her eyebrows. " _Everyone?_ "

"Well," Isaac amended. "The whole pack, I mean."

"Oh, alright…" Now that her suspicions had been confirmed, she wasn't sure what she felt. A little nauseous, actually. Despite what she'd seen, some part of her had still been hoping she'd been wrong. That it had been just a coincidence.

But then, she really didn't believe in those.

"How long have you known?" Allison asked.

Isaac shrugged. "I dunno, the whole time, I think. It's hard to hide stuff from us. There are uh…  _indicators,_ "

"Indicators?"

"Smells and stuff," Isaac looked away, obviously uncomfortable. "Jackson's sort of everywhere, in the loft. It's kind of gross, actually. And not just the loft, in our training space too. They're like animals—"

Allison held up her hand to stop him from continuing. Isaac chuckled. Obviously her discomfort put him at ease.

"It's other stuff, too," Isaac continued. "I mean, they're not exactly subtle. I think  _they_  think they are, but they're seriously not."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, the way they act around each other. And the way Derek looks at Jackson sometimes, like he's a piece of meat he'd like to rip into." Allison's nose crinkled at this, and Isaac grinned. "He treats him differently, too. When we're training and stuff."

"Different how? Like, he goes easier on him?"

Isaac shook his head. "Harder." He said. "He's harder on Jackson than any of us." Isaac studied her for a moment, tilting his head back. "Look, if you want to talk to them, we have training after school today. It's usually over around five, so if you show up a little after that, sometimes they hang around after we leave," Isaac grinned again. "For, y'know,  _extra_ training."

Allison grimaced. "Thanks, I got that."

Isaac chuckled again, and once more glanced off down the hallway. "So uh, are we done here?" He asked.

Allison nodded. "Yeah, we're done," She said. "Thank you," She said, sincerely this time.

Isaac scratched his head, and looked away. "Uh, don't mention it," He mumbled. He looked up at her and raised his eyebrows. "Really though, don't mention it. I want them to know it was me who told you—not that I told you, exactly... I mean you knew already, right?" He suddenly looked concerned, as if just now realizing he had divulged a very private secret to her.

"Yeah, I knew," Allison said. Isaac let out a breath. "I just needed someone to confirm it for me."

"Well, don't tell them I was the one who did the confirming," Isaac said. "Seriously, they've both killed people before. I still have a lot to live for."

Allison sighed, and promised Isaac that she wouldn't throw him under the bus. They parted ways, and Allison spent the rest of the period thinking unhappily about what she was going to have to do now.

* * *

For the first time in what felt like forever, Jackson didn't feel like screwing. He just didn't have the energy for it. His dreams had kept him up all night. They were getting worse. He was no long just reliving memories of being the kanima. No, now, in his dreams he was the kanima once more. His skin would turn scaly, and his mind would darken until it no longer belonged to him... and then he would be forced to kill everyone he cared about, one by one. His parents, Lydia, Danny... Derek. They all fell before him, paralyzed by his venom. Then he'd rip out their throats.

And on top of this, or perhaps because of it, the pain in his side was growing steadily worse. It was constant now, dull and aching. Jackson had tried to draw it out, but apparently he was unable to get rid of his own pain. Worse than the pain was the worry. What was happening to him? What did this pain  _mean?_ It wasn't lost on him that the pain had formed in the exact place Matt's corpse had touched him, when he'd visited him at the bottom of the pool.

Jackson had told Derek none of this. Hadn't told him anything, really. They were alone together in the basement, having both hung back after training, and usually by now they would be ripping each other clothes off. But when Derek had kissed him, Jackson just stood there. He was so tired. And even though he hadn't said anything, Derek seemed to understand.

So they sat on the floor together, Derek leaning back against the wall, Jackson between his legs, leaning against Derek's chest. Derek was going back and forth between running his fingers through Jackson's hair, and kissing his shoulder and neck. Not in a demanding way, like the way Jackson's kisses always demanded more. These kisses were just... soft. Easy. Comfortable. Jackson was even considering letting himself fall asleep like that, in Derek's arms, with Derek's lips on his shoulders.

Then Derek stiffened and sat up, suddenly alert. "Someone's here," He said.

"Pack?" Jackson suggested. He looked around, but he couldn't see anything left behind, that would give one of them a reason to come back.

Derek shook his head, untangling himself from Jackson and standing up. "Someone else..."

Jackson stood up as well and watched Derek silently cross the basement, and approach the door. He pulled it open, and then froze in the doorway. Jackson couldn't see who was there until Derek raised his hands and backed slowly out of the frame.

Allison came into view, a crossbow pointed at Derek's throat. Jackson jumped to his feet, heart hammering in his chest. She wouldn't really shoot him, would she? What was she even doing here? "Allison, what the hell?!"

"Hi, Jackson," Allison said, not taking her eyes off of Derek. "Don't worry, this is just a precaution. So he doesn't try anything. I'm here to talk." As she spoke, she and Derek slowly eased down into the basement; Derek walking backwards, his hands still raised in front of him, and Allison following... or perhaps she was pushing him forward, and he was backing away from her.

"Talk!?" Jackson asked, staring at Allison as if she'd lost her mind. "Allison this isn't how you  _talk_ to people. It's how you threaten them."

"Then maybe I'm here to do that, too,"

Derek growled. "You point that arrow at him, you lose the arm holding it."

Jackson could feel a wave of potent disgust roll off of Allison. What was she so disgusted by? Derek's threat? Or Derek defending Jackson?

Jackson suddenly felt quite sick. "Why are you here, Allison?"

"I think you both know why," Allison said. Her voice was steel. "I know. About everything. I know what you two are doing."

Jackson thought he might pass out. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't.

Derek lowered his hands. So far, he had been calm, despite having an arrow pointed at him. Now Jackson could feel his anger rising.  _"So?"_ He demanded.

"You mean besides the fact that Jackson is underage, and you're a  _murderer?_ " Allison's eyes flashed, and Jackson saw her hand tense on the trigger. He felt himself tense up and lean forward, as if his body was instinctively preparing to throw itself in front of the arrow. But she didn't let it fly. "Lydia doesn't deserve this," She said. For the first time, Allison took her eyes off of Derek, and she looked Jackson in the eye. "You remember Lydia, right Jackson? Your  _girlfriend?_ "

A large lump had formed in Jackson's throat. "Of course," He said, his voice barely audible. "Allison, please, I never meant—"

"To hurt her?" Allison demanded. "To betray her? Because that's what you did, Jackson. She deserves better than this."

"I know she does." Jackson looked at the floor, shame flooding his mind. Allison was right, and if she shot him now, he wouldn't be able to blame her. He deserved that, and so much more. "Are you... going to tell her?"

Silence. Jackson slowly lifted his eyes back up, and saw Allison lowering her crossbow. Derek took the opportunity to take a few steps backwards, until he was standing just in front of Jackson, a little to the side. Not directly in front of him, but close enough that he could guard him from Allison, Jackson figured.

The righteous indignation was gone from Allison's face now. In it's place, Jackson thought he could see something almost like the shame he felt. "I've thought about that a lot," Allison began. "But no, I won't." She gritted her teeth. "I don't want to hurt her, and if she knew..." A look of disgust, again. "I want to protect her from that."

Even through the shame he felt, Jackson still managed to be relieved. He thought that Allison may have picked up on that, because she suddenly narrowed her eyes. "But you have to break up with her. I won't let you keep cheating on her, it's vile." Her eyes turned to Derek when she said this. "You have to end things with her."

Jackson swallowed. He nodded.

Having said all she came to say, Allison left them in the basement, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Cordie Summers was not crazy. She was sure of that, just as she was sure of what she had to do.

And just as she knew she wasn't crazy, she  _also_ knew that  _they_ would say she was. Out of her mind, insane, psychotic. And they would take her away to some bright shiny hospital with smiling nurses in clean blue scrubs and a psychiatrist in a tie and glasses with a quiet voice and too-calm look on his face, and he would diagnosis her with things like  _borderline personality disorder,_ and _purely obsessional OCD,_ and give her lots and lots medications until she believed them, believed that she really had been crazy all along.

But she wasn't. It seemed important to remember that, to stress that fact to herself over and over again as she crouched in the bushes outside of that bitch Lydia Martin's house, and waited for her opportunity.

Cordie had been waiting in the bushes for a good two hours now, cursing Lydia's name and the name of her 'roided up ex-jock pretty boy boyfriend Jackson Whittemore. He was the reason she was waiting in the damn bushes like this, like some common criminal staking out a house they wanted to rob for drug money. Cordie was no common criminal, and she hated having to act like one. What she was after was  _justice._ She had to be here, in these bushes, brushing ants off her 200 dollar boots and sweating like a pig despite the freezing wind that had whipped her hair up into a blond birds nest. But soon Jackson would get in his fancy ass rich boy car, and she would make her move, and all of this would be worth it. Because she would finally have what she  _deserved._ And Lydia would have what  _she_ deserved, which was a big fat nothing. And perhaps a concussion. And some disfigurements to that pretty little face of hers.

A voice in her head chuckled, and Cordie chuckled with it.  _After everything she took from you, it's only fair that you take something extra from her,_ whispered the voice. Cordie had to agree.

_This will be justice._

Lydia should never have been gotten in her way. She had her time in the spotlight, and she'd lost it.  _She_ was the crazy one, Lydia was. Who spent two days running naked in the woods and then claimed they couldn't remember doing it?  _Crazy people._ Who began inexplicably crying and screaming in the middle of class?  _Crazy people_. Who spent every single Trig class drawing the same damn things over and over and over again, the same messed up pictures of a bloody dagger and freakin'  _mutilated_ people?  _Lydia Fucking Martin,_ that was who.

But somehow, despite all of that crazy bullshit, she'd  _still_ managed to take back her place as the popular girl, queen supreme of the school. Snatched it right out from Cordie's grasp like it was fucking  _nothing_ to her. How dare she?

Well, Cordie was going to show her that she never should have. That popularity had been  _hers._ She had  _earned_ it. And she had earned that crown too. And she was going to have it, even if she had to rip it from Lydia's cold, dead fingers.

From her spot in the bushes, Cordie saw the front door of Lydia's house open. Jackson came out, his eyes red. His hand shook slightly as he got out his keys, and it took him a minute to be able to get them into the door of his Porsche. Cordie chewed her lips, watching him. Did they have a fight? Did they break up?

Jackson drove away, and Cordie grinned. This was too perfect. Now that she'd lost her perfect boyfriend, Lydia was one step closer to losing the popularity she'd stolen. Together, Lydia and Jackson were a power couple. Apart, they were nothing but a couple of attractive, messed up losers.

After crouching in the bushes for two hours, standing up was a painful experience. Cordie fell over twice, snagging her skirt on a branch and tearing it. She cursed, realizing that she was covered in mud and twigs. No matter, it wasn't as if she cared what Lydia thought of her.

Walking stiffly, Cordie went up to Lydia's front door and rang the bell.

Lydia yanked the door open immediately, tears streaming down a red face. "Jackson, you—" She froze when she saw who was standing there. Her eyes grew wide. "Cordie? What the  _hell_ happened—" Lydia broke off as Cordie lunged for her.

"What  _happened?_ " Cordie shouted, knocking Lydia to the ground. Lydia tried turning over onto her stomach, to crawl away, but Cordie grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the ground.  _"You_ happened you little demon bitch! You took everything from me! _"_ Cordie shoved her face into Lydia's.  _"And I want it back."_

"You're  _crazy!_ " Lydia shouted. Cordie swelled furiously, and was in the middle of telling her that she  _was not crazy,_ when Lydia used her moment of distraction to shove Cordie off of her and clamber to her feet.

_She's just made everything worse for her,_ the voice said.  _Now you'll really have to hurt her._ "You've just made everything so much worse for yourself, Lyds!" Cordie shouted, stumbling after her. "Now I'm  _really_ gonna have to hurt you!"

She had heard Lydia run up the stairs, and she heard a door slam as she made her way up. At the top of the stairs, she saw a bedroom door was closed. She barrelled through it, and just as the voice in her head began to whisper it was a  _trap,_ what felt like a million volts of electricity shot through her body, and she crumpled to the floor.

The voice in her head sighed heavily. It sounded so much like her mother sometimes.  _Pathetic,_ the voice told her. Cordie started to cry. "W-why— _why—_ " She sobbed. Her vision blurred, and she looked up at Lydia, who still had the taser pointed at her. "You...  _have everything..._ "

Through bright black and white stars, Cordie saw Lydia lower the taser. Before she passed out, the last thing she heard was Lydia telling her she was wrong.


	15. Tested

* * *

"I discovered that I am tired of being a person.  
Not just tired of being the person I was,  
but any person at all." _  
_—Susan Sontag

* * *

On Friday afternoon, the day after he had broken up with Lydia, Jackson met Derek and his pack at the veterinary clinic. They were then joined by Allison, Scott and Stiles. Lydia, Jackson was unsurprised to find, had opted not to come. She hadn't been at school, either.

Jackson hoped they'd be able to get this test over with quickly, so he could go back to quietly hating himself alone in his room.

As Derek had been unable to get them, it had taken Deaton a while to track down all the ingredients they needed. The wait had made them all fairly anxious to preform the test, and find out whether or not they were dealing with the Dream Thieves coven once and for all. Despite this, when the time came, no one was eager to volunteer. Especially not after Deaton explained how  _painful_ it would be.

After about 10 minutes of Erica, Jackson, Isaac and Stiles all arguing about who it should be (Stiles vehemently suggested Jackson, and Erica aggressively suggested Stiles, which Jackson seconded) Scott came forward and sternly told them they'd be drawing straws. After a moment of sulking, they all agreed.

Similar to life, it was Jackson who wound up drawing the short straw (not a one of them missed the small  _ha_ that Stiles let out. Jackson ignored him, but Derek responded by grabbing him by the arm and tossing him out of the clinic. Jackson could see that Scott obviously wanted to protest this, but said nothing, most likely due to a lack of an argument).

Deaten cleared everyone, barring Derek who stubbornly refused to leave, out of the room before they performed the test.

Jackson sat shirtless on the steel operating table, where not long ago Derek had lay unconscious and wounded. He wondered if a similar fate awaited him.

"Drink this," Deaten said, handing him a translucent violet liquid in a mason jar.

Jackson raised the jar to the lips. It smelt sickly sweet and chemically poisonous.

"Wait," Derek said. Jackson lowered the jar, and raised his eyebrows. Deaton looked questioningly at Derek, who hesitated, as if he'd spoken without actually having any idea what he was going to say. Derek looked the floor. "Never mind," He mumbled.

Jackson drank. He couldn't describe the taste, but it was terrible enough to make him gag. It burned his throat, and made his eyes water. He was only able to finish it halfway before it became too much. He pulled the jar away, gasping and gagging, feeling as if he might puke. "No more," He muttered, shaking his head. "I can't."

"You have to finish all of it," Deaton said gently.

"He drank more than half of it!" Derek protested.

"Then he's more than halfway done."

Derek began to growl, but Jackson raised his hand. "Derek, it's fine," He said. Inwardly, he was screaming and pleading to not have to drink another mouthful, that he was sure this was going to kill him, that it was poison and Deaton was a mad man out to get him. "It's... not so bad..."

Derek turned to him, his eyes red. "You're lying," He said. "Forget it, Jackson, you don't have to—"

Jackson lifted the jar back up, and chugged the rest of it as quickly as he could. Somehow, the taste seemed even worse. It was like something months past its expiration date, fermented into a disgusting sweetness that his gag reflex instinctively wanted to wretch up.

Somehow, he finished it, and he let the jar slip from his hands. Deaton caught it, which Jackson thought was a shame. He would have loved to watch it shatter.

Jackson groaned, and Derek moved to his side, putting his hand on Jackson's shoulder. "How do you feel?" He asked. Jackson wanted to say  _fine,_ but the words wouldn't come out.

"Derek, if the test works, he's only going to be in more pain," Deaton reminded him. Jackson groaned again. He and Erica should have teamed up and forced the drink down Stilinksi's throat. "How do you feel, Jackson?"

Jackson shrugged weakly. "Kind of like throwing up,"

Deaton frowned. "It should be working by now. You don't feel anything?"

"He just drank it, give it a minute."

"The effects should be instant..."

Jackson wiped some sweat off his forehead, and wondered if how very, very warm he suddenly felt was the drink starting to work. But it wasn't painful, just sort of slightly uncomfortable. He said so, but Deaton continued to frown.

Jackson gasped loudly, as the ache in his side suddenly stabbed at him, worse than he had ever felt it. He put his hand to his side, and squeezed his eyes shut. It felt like a thousand hot needles were being stabbed into his side.

"What the hell is that?!" Derek shouted, causing Jackson to wince. He was still at his side, and had shouted directly in his ear.

"The test was designed to reveal magic made scars..." Deaton said quietly. "I suppose it's possible that Jackson's time as the kanima left him with some of those..."

Jackson opened his eyes. " _What?_ " He cried. He looked down at his side, just in time to see a shimmering, gleaming pattern of scales disappear from his skin. "No, no no..."

Derek put his hands on Jackson's face. "Jackson, Jackson calm down," He said. "It's just a scar, it's nothing—" He turned to Deaton. "Right?"

But Deaton was frowning. "It shouldn't have been so clear... fresh. That looked much too fresh."

"Well what the hell does that mean?!" Derek demanded. Jackson murmured in agreement, too shocked to formed actual words.

Deaton shook his head. "I don't know. That wasn't the sort of wound I was looking for." He peered at Jackson. "You felt a pain in your side just now?" Jackson nodded. "But that's it, nothing else?" Jackson nodded again. Obviously, this lack of pain was distressing to Deaton. "There should be more. More scars... much more than just the one..."

"Then your test didn't freaking work!"

Deaton sighed. "It did. It appears I was wrong. Whatever we're dealing with... it isn't Dream Thieves."

"Then what the hell is it?"

"I wish I knew."

* * *

Jackson stormed out of the clinic, ignoring the questions of everyone in the waiting room. Deaton could explain the test results—of lack there of—to them. He just needed to get out of there, and fast.  
Derek followed him out, shouting at Jackson to talk to him, but Jackson ignored him too. He didn't want to talk, not to anyone right now. It was too much for him, looking down and seeing those scales... he couldn't do it.

And on top of it, they were still no closer to figuring out who or what was causing his nightmares. They just kept getting worse and worse, and Jackson was beginning to think they would never go away. And for all of his promises, all his assurances that they would figure this out, that he would save him, Derek had no more of an idea about what to do than anyone else. He wasn't even able to protect himself from them, let alone someone else.

Jackson pulled the door to his Porsche open, and threw himself inside. As he was slamming his door shut, the door to the passenger side opened and Derek got in. "Jackson, you have to calm down," Derek said.

Jackson gritted his teeth, and gripped the wheel tightly as he turned the ignition key. The car roared to life, and Jackson sped out of the parking lot.

"It's just a scar, Jackson, it doesn't mean anything!"

"Doesn't  _mean_ anything?" Jackson snapped, turning and glaring at Derek as he drove. "Are you  _fucking_ kidding me?"

"Jackson—"

_He doesn't understand,_ Matt's voice whispered to him.  _You'll always be the kanima, Jackson. It's a part of you now. We always will be..._

"I'll tell you what it  _means,_ Derek, it means I will  _always_ be the kanima! It means it's a part of me, that will never ever go away! I will always be a monster, always something that belongs to someone else! Matt, or Gerard, or  _you!_ "

"Jackson, watch the road!" Derek shouted. Jackson turned the wheel sharply, narrowly avoiding a collision with oncoming traffic. "Jackson, you shouldn't be driving right now. Pull over."

Jackson gripped the wheel so tightly he felt the leather tear under his fingers. "No,  _you_ got in the car with  _me,_ so if you don't like how I'm driving then you can throw yourself out of the fucking car."

Cars honked as Jackson swerved in front of traffic, paying no attention to the lights. What did he care if he totalled his car? What did he care about anything? If he was still the kanima—if a part of him would always be that monster—were his actions even his own? Did any of it even matter?

_You're nothing, Jackson. You're not even human. You never were, and you've always known it._

In the passenger seat, Derek growled fiercely. " _Jackson pull over, right now,_ " He commanded.

As if acting on pure instinct, Jackson slowed the car down, and pulled off to the side of the road. He killed the ignition, and took the keys out.

They sat in silence for a moment. Jackson's heart was pounding in his chest. Why had he done that? He'd had no intention of pulling over...

Slowly, he looked at Derek. The guilt on his face was all the confirmation he needed. "Jackson..."

" _Get out of the car,_ " Jackson hissed.

"Jackson, just talk to me, please—"

"Get out!" Derek made no move to leave, so Jackson unbuckled his seat belt and threw the door open. "Fine, I'll get out. "

Jackson slammed the car door shut, and made his way into the forest where he'd pulled over. He could hear Derek coming after him, and he broke into a run. He ran as fast as he could, knowing he would never be able to get away from Derek but determined to anyways. If Derek had any sense, he would just leave him alone—

Derek slammed into him, knocking the breath from Jackson's lungs. He started to fall forward, but Derek snatched him by his arm, and pulled him up, then threw him against a tree and grabbed his shoulder. "What do I have to do to get you talk to me?!" He shouted. His eyes were fiery, and Jackson could see his fangs emerging.

Jackson growled up at him, his own fangs coming out and his eyes turning blue. When Derek removed one hand from his shoulder, and thrust it between his legs, it only made him growl harder.

"Is this the only thing you care about?" Derek asked, stroking Jackson through his jeans. Jackson squirmed under him, fighting in part to get away, and in part not to enjoy it. He wouldn't let Derek get out of this so easily. "You don't want to talk to me, fine, we'll do this instead. This is really what you want from me, isn't it Jackson?" He moved his hand up, to the button of Jackson's jeans and began to undo them.

"Get  _off_  of me," Jackson shouted, shoving at Derek's chest.

Derek didn't move away, but he drew his hand back. "Then  _talk_ to me!"

Jackson shoved his face up into Derek's, his eyes turning blue once more. "If you want me to talk to you, then  _make me,_ " He growled. Derek opened his mouth, but the look in his eyes was defeated. He had nothing left, no anger or frustration to throw at him. "You can, can't you? You know you can. Have you always known you could do that?" Jackson raised his eyebrows. "Have you ever done it before?"

" _No,_ " Derek's voice was rough, but his eyes were pleading. Pleading with Jackson to understand. But Jackson didn't. "I wouldn't—"

"But you  _did!_ Back there in the car... you made me pull over. You controlled me, Derek."

_Just like I did,_ Matt laughed in his head. _You just swapped one master for another, didn't you?_

Jackson felt sick. He turned away, unable to look at Derek any longer. "Did you know you could control me like that?"

"Yes. But it's not like that Jackson," Derek pleaded. He grabbed Jackson's hands, and Jackson reluctantly looked up at his face. "It's not the same, you can fight it. It's an influence, Jackson, that's it. It's not control. But I wouldn't use it, I swore I wouldn't, not unless one of were going to hurt yourself or someone else. I promise, Jackson."

The voice in his head was speaking, calling Derek a liar, telling Jackson how guilty he sounded. But Jackson didn't listen. "I believe you," He said quietly. For a moment, relief showed on Derek's face. Jackson made as if to turn away, and then moved as fast as he could and raked a clawed hand across Derek's face.

Derek hissed in pain, his hand going up to red lines running down his cheek. Jackson stared at him, breathing hard, and waited for Derek to retaliate. After a moment, he realized he wasn't going to.

Disappointed, angry and scared, Jackson turned around and began to walk back to his car. He kept expecting Derek to call after him, to try and stop him, to do  _something—_ but he didn't. And part of Jackson was glad.

As he climbed back into his car, Matt's voice crackled and warped in his ear, growing high and then low again. _You don't deserve him, anyways. I'll always be your Master, Jackson. And you know it._

And Jackson did.


	16. Company

"For every woman is at heart a witch."  
— _Aradia, Gospel of the Witches_

Allison had never really had a best friend before, not one like Lydia was. She'd never really stayed in any one place long enough to develop that kind of bond. It had always felt a bit lonely, moving around from place to place, never establishing any  _real_ connections, but all of that had changed when she'd moved to Beacon Hills. For the first time, she had  _friends._ Even a boyfriend, for a little while. And she had Lydia, the first best friend she'd ever made. She hadn't thought about all those lonely years at all since she'd moved here.

Until now. Now, she was thinking she  _really_ should have made more of an effort to have a best friend before now. Because maybe if she'd gone through this before, she'd know how she was supposed to comfort her best friend after a break-up.

Probably not, though. She doubted that anything could have prepared her for this _particular_ break-up scenario. The one where it was partially her fault.

As it was, Allison was basically going off what she'd seen in romantic comedies. She didn't feel all too confident drawing on what  _she'd_ done to help herself when she'd broken up with Scott, which had essentially been to throw herself into her training. Somehow, she didn't think studying hand-to-hand combat and shooting targets with arrows for hours would help Lydia much.

Of course she  _had_ considered it, once Lydia had told her about the way Cordie Summers had come to her house and  _attacked_ her. But Lydia, having subdued Cordie with the taser that had been part of Allison's birthday gift to her and then tied her up to a chair for the cops, was apparently perfectly capable of defending herself already.

All of this Lydia only mentioned  _after_ crying and ranting about Jackson for a half an hour, of course. To Lydia, being attacked by Cordie appeared to be, in comparison to the travesty that was being dumped ( _again)_ hardly more than a serious annoyance. She seemed to be preferring not to talk about it, for the most part.

Words like  _denial_ and  _displacement_  kept coming to Allison's mind, but what was she supposed to do? Demand Lydia be  _more upset_ than she was, about being attacked? Somehow that didn't seem right, either.

But Lydia didn't want to talk about it. Nor was she interested in discussing the  _frequency_ in which things like this were beginning to happen. Every day it seemed people were having panic attacks in class and running out on exams. Fights were breaking out in the hallway just as often, and two days before Lydia's break up the police had spent three hours talking Kyle McCormick off of the top of the school, where he'd been threatening to jump.

But, instead of talking about all of that, instead they sat on Allison's couch, surrounded by chocolate (with a pizza on the way) and about a dozen movies based on Nicholas Spark's novels, that Allison rented from the video store.

"We were renting the Notebook, the night we got attacked," Lydia said miserably, as she watched Ryan Gosling blackmail Rachel McAdams into going on a date with him, by threatening to kill himself.

Allison bit her lip. "Um... which night?"

Lydia snorted and rolled her eyes. "The  _first_ time. It was really  _Jackson_ who was attacked, I just saw the mountain lion—" Lydia pursed her lips. " _Peter,_ " She said. "I just  _saw_ Peter crash out of the window." She pulled her knees up in front of her, and rested her chin them, pouting. "He was getting the Notebook."

Allison looked at the screen, and then back at Lydia. "So... should we put on a different movie?"

"I should have seen this coming," Lydia put her knees down. "He was pulling away from me, and I just thought 'well, he needs space," so I gave it to him. You know what comes with space?" Lydia stared at Allison, and for a moment Allison was unsure whether or not the question was rhetorical. "Distance! He was putting distance between us, and I just let him!" Lydia shook her head. "I was so stupid, trying to pretend everything could just go back to the way it was before. That all this horror and supernatural bullshit could just be over, and that I could just go back to being normal, and happy. I mean is it really so much to ask, Allison? To have a normal life? Be prom queen, go on dates with my boyfriend,  _not_ be the town loony?"

"You're not the town loony, Lydia,"

Lydia didn't seem to hear her. "I was so stupid for thinking I could have that. Stupid and blind."

"This wasn't your fault, it's—"

"I know that it wasn't my fault, it was  _his_ fault, for being an idiot!" Lydia shouted, before dissolving in tears. Allison put an arm over her shoulder and patted her arm gently. She saw her father stick his head out of his bedroom, and a concerned look on his face.

He mouthed the words "Something I can do?" to her. She shook her head. "You sure?" Allison gave him an exasperated look, and shooed him away with her hand. Sighing, Chris retreated back into his bedroom.

After another hour of alternating between sobbing, eating chocolate (and the pizza when it arrived) and ranting about how sexist all romantic movies are, Lydia seemed to reach a sort of eerie calm.

"Alright, I'm done," Lydia said, putting her barely touched piece of pizza back on her plate.

Allison raised her eyebrows. "With the pizza?" She asked, grabbing her third slice. "You barely took two bites. And it's only your second slice—what happened to our determination to eat an entire extra large pizza ourselves?"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Not with the pizza, with moping and crying over  _him._ And the loss of my so-called normal life."

"Are we not using his name anymore?"

"No, no we are not," Lydia said, picking up her pizza once more. She took a bite, and chewed slowly. "Just because  _he's_ an idiot who can't take a few minutes out of his day to  _talk_ to his girlfriend about whatever he's going through—why should I have to suffer? Let him be  _closed off_ and  _repressed._ "

"Lydia, you're allowed to be upset when you have a break up," Allison told her. "Trust me, I'm not judging you."

"I know I'm  _allowed_ to be upset, I'm just choosing not to be."

"Right, that sound healthy, Lydia," Allison said, taking another bite of her pizza. "I wish you luck—" Allison dropped her pizza, feeling a sudden, sharp pain in her eyes. It faded away quickly, and then came again, making her gasp and squeeze her eyes shut against the pain.

"Allison? What's wrong?" Lydia asked.

The pain continued to worsen, and Allison clutched at her eyes, seeing flashes of white and red behind her lids. She tried to stand up but wound up falling to her knees.

"Allison? Mr. Argent!"

Allison heard footsteps come into the room, and her father's voice asking was wrong, what was happening. Allison was unable to answer, the pain was so terrible. It felt as if her eyes were being stabbed with hot pokers.

Allison screamed as an image appeared before her, an image of herself—she was at her dresser, lighting candles. One black and one white. Then she was kneeling on the floor, a piece of white chalk in her hand. She saw herself draw a symbol on the floor in white chalk, chanting in latin:

_ego voco unam ex quattuor ex chaos;_  
 _ego voco unum quidem a aqua_  
 _ego voco unam ex quattuor ex chaos;_  
 _ego voco unum quidem a aqua_

The image swirled and dissolved, and Allison opened her eyes to find herself lying on the floor, Lydia and her father by her side. "I'm alright," She gasped, sitting up.

"Alright?" Her father asked. "You were screaming in  _agony,_ Allison."

"We should call an ambulance," Lydia said. "She could be suffering from optic neuritis, an inflammation that affects the myelin lining of the optic nerve—"

"That sound serious, Allison maybe she's right—" _  
_

Allison raised her hand, stopping them both. "Guys, I'm fine," She insisted.

It took 20 minutes for her to actually convince them she was fine. Her father kept trying to check her for signs of concussion, and Lydia kept rhyming off increasingly horrific sounding diseases that she could have. Finally after insisting over and over again that she was alright, and that whatever pain she'd been in was totally gone now, they backed off. Having watched all the rom-coms they could stomach for the time being, Allison and Lydia went to Allison's room, leaving the living room free for Chris.  _  
_

"Alright, what the heck was that?" Lydia said, flopping down on Allison's bed.

"What was what?" Allison took a seat at her desk chair.

Lydia gave her a look. "Don't even try that, Allison. Something happened back there, something  _weird._ Should we look under your pillow, for another magical dagger?"

Allison sighed. "I... saw something, alright?"

Lydia's eyes flashed. "What?"

Allison pinched the bridge of her nose. "Myself... I was drawing a symbol on my floor, and chanting in Latin..."

" _And?"_ Lydia pressed.

"And nothing," Allison said. "That's it. I saw myself light some candles, draw a wonky star thing on the floor and say some words in Latin." She shrugged. "That's it."

The excited look in Lydia's eyes seemed to disagree. There was something vaguely familiar, and worrisome, about that look. "Well then," She said. Allison had the distinct feeling that they were done watching depressing romance movies for the rest of the night. "What are waiting for?"

* * *

For hours, Jackson had not been able to stop crying. And then, quite suddenly, he could cry no more. Not because he had cried every tear he had left inside of him, but as though the ability to shed those tears had left him. In its place was a numbness, a dark hole in his chest that threatened to consume him, swallow him up entirely.

And he had no energy left to fight it.

The look on her face would not leave him alone. He could see it every time he closed his eyes, and even when he opened them again, the negative of her face would linger in the bright lights of his bathroom. She was haunting him, Lydia was, and he thought she would forever.

Jackson had failed before, many times in his life. And he had even failed Lydia before, too. But never so completely, so profoundly as he had this time. She had saved him, and he had failed her in every way it was possible to fail another person. He had taken her for granted, and betrayed her trust... and then he had left her, with no explanation besides his own shortcomings. He had lied to her, so many times that he couldn't have counted if he'd tried.

Jackson sat on his bathroom floor, numb with his own self loathing and pity. How had he come to be this way? This pathetic excuse of a person, if you could even call him that. Who was he? Jackson's head swam, unable to answer the question.

And then, of course, there was Derek.

Since he'd walked away from in the forest several hours ago, Jackson had almost picked up his cellphone to call him three times. He wanted to apologize, to take back his ridiculous accusations of Derek controlling him, take back the awful way he'd treated him. He hadn't meant any of it, he'd just been scared and upset, and Derek had been  _there,_ a perfect target for all of his misplaced anger and aggression.

He hadn't meant it. It was terrifying, sure, finding out that Derek could control him like that—if he thought about it, there had been similar instances where Derek had exercised his  _influence_ over them, growling at them, forcing them to submit, but that had always struck Jackson as more of an instinctual pull, than actual control. This had been different; Derek had issued a command, and Jackson had obeyed, without thinking, without questioning.

And it frightened him. That was true.

But he trusted Derek, even more than he trusted himself. Derek wasn't Matt, he wasn't Gerard. He would never use Jackson like that, never force him to obey his selfish whims. Jackson  _knew_ that, more surely than he knew a single thing about himself.

But he had panicked and lashed out, and he desperately wanted to take it back. He wanted to call Derek and apologize, and spill out all of his worries and his fears and his self loathing and guilt. He wanted Derek to come to him—and he knew that if he called, Derek would come, no matter how angry he was with him—and take him in his arms and kiss his forehead, and tell him it would be alright. That he would save him from everything, even himself. He wanted that, wanted his comfort and his acceptance, and all the other things Jackson was scared to even think about.

But he didn't deserve that. Not Derek's forgiveness, or his comfort. What he deserved was to continue with exactly what he was doing; sitting on the bathroom floor, hating himself and being miserable. At least this way he couldn't hurt any but himself. And after all, he hardly even counted as a person.

He was no one.

The pain in his side suddenly seared violently, and Jackson bit down on his lip to keep from screaming. It was the same sensation he'd felt at the clinic—the feeling as though he was being stabbed with thousands of red hot needles. Only now they were pressing deeper into his side, hitting his bones and cracking them in a thousand places.

Jackson put his hand to his side, pressing firmly against the skin as though he could somehow stop the pain by smothering it. He pulled his hand away and looked down, half-expecting to see his hand come away red with blood, a fresh wound opened over his hip.

Instead, what he saw was much worse.

For a moment, Jackson couldn't breath. Was he dreaming? Had he fallen asleep on the bathroom floor without realizing it. To check, he unsheathed his claws and stabbed them into his arm. Again, he bit his lip in pain. It wasn't a dream.

Jackson stood on shaking knees, and stared at himself in his bathroom mirror; at the pale, shimmering pattern of scales going up his side.

Then he grabbed his cellphone from the bathroom floor, and dialled Derek's number.

* * *

One hour, and a trip to a 24-Walmart later, Allison and Lydia stood in front of Allison's dresser, preparing to light two candles; one white, and one black.

Allison glanced at Lydia. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Lydia frowned. "No," She said, seriously. "I mean, I was the other 17 times you asked me, but this time, no."

Allison stared at her, unimpressed. "Two hours ago you wished you could have a normal life, free from all of this 'supernatural crap.' Now suddenly you're all gung-ho for magic?" She raised her eyebrows. "What gives?"

"It's my new outlook on life," Lydia said, smiling. "Embrace what you can't change. And obviously, the supernatural part of our lives is something we can't change. So why fight it? Besides, aren't you just a bit curious about why this is happening? Why are you having visions? Where did that mysterious dagger come from?" Lydia raised her eyebrows, and Allison remembered why that look in her eyes was so familiar. It was the same vibrant glint she'd had during her campaign for prom queen. Slightly manic, laser focused on something she thought could help distract her.

Allison sighed. As her best friend, was it her duty to force Lydia to face her problems? Or was she supposed to go along with whatever distraction Lydia had in mind to help cheer her up?

Unable to form a complete answer, Allison pulled out the lighter they'd bought from Walmart, and clicked it, causing a flame to jump up out of the metal tip. "Alright, let's just do this," She said. She lit the candles. Smiling, Lydia, held out the package of chalk they'd gotten.

They crouched on Allison's floor, and Allison began to draw the symbol she'd seen in her head. Meanwhile, Lydia studied the drawing Allison had done, depicting it. "It looks similar to a chaos star... but with a witches knot, here in the middle," She mumbled.

Allison paused and looked up at her friend. Lydia gave a one shouldered shrug. "What? I did some research on the occult, right after I woke up from my dead-serial-killer-induced-possession. I needed answers, and obviously I wasn't going to get any from  _you_ people."

To this, Allison could say nothing, and so instead she simply went back to the drawing. As she did, she began to speak the words she'd heard herself say in her vision. She didn't know what they meant, or have any clue how to speak Latin whatsoever, but somehow the words poured out of her mouth as easily as if she was reciting something she'd spoken a hundred times.

" _Ego voco unam ex quattuor ex chaos,"_ Allison intoned. " _Ego voco unum quidem a aqua..."_

" _Ego... voco... unam..."_  Lydia repeated under her breath, writing down the words as Allison spoke them. " _Ex quattuor... ex chaos..._ Ooh, that doesn't sound good."  _  
_

Allison ignored her, and continued. " _Ego voco unam ex quattuor ex chaos, ego voco unum quidem a aqua..."_

Allison finished drawing the symbol, and sat back on her heels. Lydia looked up from the notepad she'd been writing on. They both waited.

Nothing happened.

"Maybe you didn't say it enough. Or properly," Lydia suggested.

Allison tried reciting it again, and put more expression in her voice this time. Still, nothing.

Lydia sighed. "Well,  _that_ was a waste of time,"

Allison frowned, looking down at the symbol she'd drawn. "Yeah..." She'd been sure something would happen. Why hadn't it worked?

"Do you want to know what you were saying?" Lydia asked, holding up the notebook. "I translated it. You might be happier that it didn't work." Allison nodded for her to go ahead, and Lydia cleared her throat: "I have called one of the four out of the chaos; I have called the one from the water."

Allison raised her eyebrows. "Called one out of the chaos?" She repeated. She glanced back at the circle with the strange star shape in it. "You're right, maybe it is better it didn't work."

* * *

_Allison. Alison... awaken._

It was close to three in the morning, when Allison found herself stirring in her bed, unsure what had woken her up.

_Allison..._

Allison's eyes snapped open. Someone had said her name. She glanced next to her, but Lydia was still sound asleep. If it hadn't been Lydia, then who... ?

That was when she noticed the figure floating by the end of her bed. Allison clapped a hand over her mouth, although she was too shocked to scream.

It was a girl. She was mostly solid looking, not like Allison would have imagined a ghost would look... but she didn't appear to be quite all there, either. There was a translucent shimmering around her edges, and sort of gleaming that made her appear more illusion than reality. The girl was pale, paler than Allison had ever seen a person be. She wore a long white dress that may have been a nightgown, and her long dark hair fell around her shoulders in waves. But none of that was what struck Allison about her appearance—not the shimmering, not her pale skin, not even the fact that she was hovering a foot off the ground, toes dangling limply over the symbol on her floor.

No, what struck Allison about the girl was the fact that she had no eyes. Where her eyes should be, there were not even empty sockets. It was if the skin had grown over that area of her face, leaving it blank and smooth.

Allison had never seen something so unsettling before.

"Hello, Allison Argent," The eyeless girl greeted, in a soft, eerie voice. Allison could only stare, with mouth half open, taking in the sight before her. The thing at the end of the bed smiled, which only served to make its appearance more horrific.

A million thoughts and questions races through Allison's mind, but what she blurted out was "What do you want?"

"Only to help you,"

"Help me? Help me do what?"

"No, no time, we cannot stay long, we must hurry," The girl told her. "You must take this from us," The girl held out a pale palm, and Allison could see some sort of coin in it. Allison raised her eyebrows, wary of taking things from eyeless floating girls. "You must take this," The girl repeated. "We cannot step outside the circle."

Allison sighed, and crawled forward on her bed. She grabbed the coin from the girl's palm as fast she could. Her skin was ice cold, and touching it sent shivers down Allison's spine.

The girl smiled again. "Thank you, Allison,"

"What is it?" Allison asked, turning the large coin over in her palm. "Why do I need it?"

The floating girl paused, and Allison had the impression she was debating whether or not to answer her question. "Sleep with our medallion under your pillow, and so that we may find you in your dreams." The girl's form flickered strangely, and Allison had the idea that she was about to leave.

"Wait!" Allison reached out her hand, as if intending to grab her. "Who are you? Why do you want to help? Help with  _what?_ "

The girl's mouth set into a grim line. She flickered again. "Yes, so much to discuss, but we dare not speak of it aloud. We wish to help you purge the chaos from your lives, and the lives of your... loved ones," She said. Allison thought she saw her turn her head a fraction of an inch, as if she was looking forwards Lydia.

"Ask no more. We have left answers for you, but they must be found and not given. Find them as the Alpha mongrel found us, many days ago. We are no longer where we were, but you may retrace his footsteps and find what has been left behind." As she spoke, her image became blurry. "We must say no more. We will find you again."

And then she was gone, and Allison was left staring at the spot on the floor, where the floating girl had been a moment ago.


	17. Cursed

* * *

"I found the one damn person to help me fall asleep in the night.  
But sleeping gets tiring, and dark reminds me of dying,  
And as long as this feeble heart is still beating,  
You will find me rushing through every room, switching on all the lights."  
—Frank Turner,  _Plain Sailing Weather_

* * *

Derek answered the phone on the first ring. "Jackson? What's wrong?"

Jackson opened his mouth, but nothing would come out. He knew exactly what was wrong, but he couldn't put it into words, as if saying it aloud would make it real.

"Are you home?" Derek pressed. "I'm coming over." There was a clicking sound, and then the line went dead. Jackson stared at the phone for a moment, feeling dazed, before he hung up.

It was roughly a 30 minute drive from Derek's loft to Jackson's house. 20 if you drove like a maniac, and came across absolutely no traffic.

Derek was at Jackson's house in 15.

Jackson heard him at the window, and opened it up to let him in. "Alright, what's wrong—" Derek broke off, as his eyes found the pattern of scales climbing up Jackson's side. Jackson's heart beat erratically as he waited for Derek to say, or do something. What  _would_ he do? Drag him over to Deaton's in the middle of the night, and demand the man fix it? Burst into tears?

Or maybe something much worse. Something that Jackson feared would need to be done from the moment he'd seen the scales. It would be necessary, if he was going to turn into the kanima again... he knew that, but he did not want to die. But if it was between death, and turning into a monster once more, well it wasn't really a choice at all. Jackson was afraid to die, but he would not be the kanima again. No one else would die at his hands, not ever.

Derek put his hands on Jackson's shoulders. If there was a shred of emotion on his face, Jackson couldn't find it. "Jackson, shift," He demanded.

Jackson felt his brow furrow. That had not been one of the reactions he'd been expecting. "Wha—"

"Shift, right now!" Derek said, giving him a small shove.

Jackson glared up at Derek. He didn't know what the fuck Derek was getting at, but he didn't appreciate being shoved. "Screw you."

"Shift, damn it!" Derek pushed him again, harder, and Jackson stumbled back against his night table.

Jackson's eyes turned a violent blue as anger welled in his chest. He felt his fangs grow in his mouth, and his nails turn to claws. He put his hands out to shove against Derek's chest, fighting the urge to dig his claws in. "Stop pushing me!" He shouted, pushing Derek with all of his strength. Of course, Derek didn't budge.

"Jackson?" Jackson froze, hearing his mother call his name. His fangs and claws retracted instantly. "Are you alright?"

Jackson looked at Derek, whose look of panic matched Jackson's. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs and before he could tell him to hide, Derek ducked back out the window.

Jackson just had time to pull on a t-shirt, turn on his television and flop down on his bed before his mother came through the door, a concerned look on her face. "Everything alright in here?" She asked.

"Uh, yeah, of course," Jackson said, trying to sound casual. "Just watching some TV."

"Oh," She said, glancing at the television and then back to him. "I thought I heard you shouting."

Jackson glanced away, mind racing to come up with some plausible story. "Yeah, I was just... shouting at the TV?" He said.

His mother raised her eyebrows at him. "You were shouting at the television?" She questioned. He nodded. "What were you watching?

"Um,  _Game of Thrones,_ " He said, naming the first television show that came to mind.

"I didn't know you watched that show..."

"Oh, I uh, just started. It's um, it's really intense. That's why I was shouting..." His mother continued to stare at him, and Jackson continued nervously. "Uh, on the show, one of the characters—uh, Joffrey— he's always such an assh—a jerk, to Sansa. So I was yelling at him to stop pushing her around. She just doesn't deserve that, you know?" He scratched his head, wishing he had stopped speaking several sentences ago. He hoped his face wasn't red.

"Oh," His mother said again. She nodded, although the look on her face said she didn't quite seem to believe him. Fuck, he should have pretended to be on his phone or something. That made so much more sense. "Well, goodnight then..."

She closed his door, and Jackson let out a long breath. He heard the window open again, and turned to find Derek climbing back through it. Jackson pointed at him. "Say nothing."

"I wasn't going to," Derek said. He raised his eyebrows. "Why do you know so much about  _Game of Thrones,_ exactly?"

Jackson scratched the back of his head, remembering one-too-many lunch periods spent listening in on conversations held by Isaac, Scott and Stiles. He declined an answer, and instead stared at the floor.

Derek approached him, and put a hand on his cheek. Jackson lifted his eyes from the floor, to meet with Derek's. "I'm sorry I pushed you, Jackson," He said quietly. "But I needed you to shift. As long as you can do that, you aren't a kanima. It's impossible to be both at the same time. You're still one of us, we have time. We can figure this out."

"How?"

"It has to be the witches," Derek pulled his hand back, and his eyes hardened. "We find them, we kill them. I don't care what kind of witches they are; Dream Thieves, Necromancers, the fucking Wicked Witch of the West, I don't give a shit. It doesn't matter any more, the only thing that matters is how I can get my hands on them, and tear them apart." Derek's eyes were red, and his voice was cold.

Jackson felt the familiar sensation of tears welling up in his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, refusing to let them fall. He pressed his palms against his eyes until he was sure the tears had passed. Only then did he let himself look at Derek.

And despite all of his effort to hold back, Jackson dissolved into tears. He shut his eyes again, trying to stop the tears streaming down his face with no success. He found himself immediately pulled into Derek's arms, and tried hopelessly to tell him that he was so  _fucking sorry_ about going off on him like that the other day, and that he  _knew_ Derek would never control him like Matt or Gerard, but it was all muddled between sobs and hiccups.

Derek stroked his fingers through Jackson's hair, trying to calm him, telling him he had nothing to be sorry for, that he, Derek, was the one who was sorry, so sorry for what had happened—but no matter what he said, Jackson could not stop the tears. He hated himself for crying like this, for letting Derek see him like this, but he couldn't pretend that he was strong. Jackson was weak, and always had been, and he was more scared now than he'd ever been in his life. He couldn't turn in to the kanima again, he just  _couldn't._

"I promise, Jackson, we'll figure this out," Derek mumbled, over and over again. "I won't let this happen, I promise."

And Jackson wished he could take comfort in his words, but for all of his promises, deep down Jackson knew that when it came to these witches, Derek was just as weak as he was.

* * *

Allison sat at her kitchen table, waiting for the uncomfortable silence to pass. Around her, three identically horrified expressions stared at her, mouths open and eyes wide. When their gazes became uncomfortable, she focused on the items on the table instead; a dagger with a black hilt, and a large coin.

The coin was old looking, worn and grimy. The symbols pressed on either side were difficult to read, but close inspection revealed one side of the coin to be an upside down triangle—which Allison had learned through a quick google search was the alchemical symbol for water—and the same complicated symbol she'd drawn on her floor, on the other side. Since Lydia said it looked like a cross between a chaos star and a witches knot, she had begun to think of the symbol as a chaos knot.

Allison placed her hands on the table, folded neatly together. Everyone seemed to be taking the story of her floating, eyeless visitor even less well than she had anticipated. A full minute had passed since she'd finished telling it, and not a one of them had uttered a single sound.

It was Scott who spoke first. Allison was grateful. "Why is she doing this?" He asked. "I mean, why try and help you take down her own coven?"

"Do we know that it  _is_ her coven?" Stiles asked.

"I'm pretty sure it is..." Allison said slowly. "She has to be one of the witches from my dreams. The girls mutilating themselves... one of them took out her eyes."

"Allison, you said those witches looked like they were from the 18th century," Lydia reminded her. "It couldn't be them—their ancestors, maybe, or a coven descended from them—but not those witches themselves." She looked around the table at them. "I mean, witches are essentially human, are they not? They couldn't still be alive."

"Maybe it's part of what this coven does," Stiles suggested. "Mutilating themselves like that could be part of their practices,"

Scott wrinkled his nose. "That's seriously gross,"

Stiles shrugged. "Don't knock it 'till you try it," He said. Everyone stared at him, and he sighed. "Dude I'm kidding. Obviously we can go ahead and knock self-mutilation."

Scott shook his head. "So what about these clues she left," He continued. "Where are they supposed to be?"

"I was hoping you could help figure that out, actually," Allison said, digging around in her pocket for the piece of paper she'd made notes on. "She mentioned something about an 'alpha mongrel,' so I'm guessing she's talking about Derek—"

"Wait, is that what she called him?" Scott interrupted. "A  _mongrel?_ "

Allison cringed slightly. "Sort of, yeah," She said. She put the piece of paper on the table, and smoothed it out. Scott did not look pleased. "Sorry?"

"It's not your fault," Scott mumbled. He glared at the piece of paper she'd taken out. "What's that?"

"I wrote down what she said," Allison explained. "Right after she left. I was worried I wouldn't remember it all." She cleared her throat, and read. "Ask no more. We have left answers for you, but they must be found and not given. Find them as the alpha mongrel found us, many days ago. We are no longer where we were, but you may retrace his footsteps and find what has been left behind. We must say no more. We will find you again." When she finished, she looked up at Scott and Stiles. "Any ideas?"

"Nope, not a one," Stiles said.

Scott nodded. "Yeah, I think I know." He said. "Deaton said that Derek had a run in with the coven, like two weeks ago. He'd been going to his house, to get ingredients for that test. Deaton said they nearly killed him."

"Well then," Lydia said, a sarcastic cheeriness in her voice. "I guess we're going on a field trip to the Hale house. How fun."

Scott glanced at Lydia, his eyebrows raised. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Lydia raised an eyebrow back at him. "Of course it is, we need answers don't we?"

"No, I mean..." Scott hesitated. "It'll be dangerous," He looked at Allison. "I can go check it out on my own."

Lydia pursed her lips. "Scott, correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't alphas stronger than betas?"

"Yeah..."

"And remind me again, you're a... ?"

Scott frowned at her, obviously wondering where she was going with this. "A beta,"

"A Derek Hale is a... ?"

"An alpha,"

Lydia smiled. "So what I'm hearing is that when Derek, an alpha, went back to his house and ran into these witches, they nearly killed him. But  _you,_ a beta, think it will be  _safest_ if you go back there alone?"

"Safest for the three of  _you,_ " Scott replied.

Lydia looked at Allison. "Allison?"

Allison smiled at Scott. "We're going with you, Scott," She said. "End of discussion."

In a last ditch effort, Scott turned to Stiles, obviously hoping for some support. He was looking in the wrong place. Stiles grinned at him, and slapped him on the arm. "Cheer up, buddy, it'll be great." He turned to Allison. "So, when do we leave?"

* * *

Jackson woke up in a panic, his heart pounding and his mouth dry. Derek was still with him, arms wound tightly around his middle, face nuzzled sleepily into the crook of his neck. They'd spent the night like this, curled up together in Jackson's bed, talking quietly or just lying there in silence. It was one of the few nights in the last month when Jackson had been able to sleep without a single nightmare.

But now the clock on his nightstand said it was eight in the morning, and while Derek's presence had been a blessing last night, this morning it was a curse. Jackson looked at the door to his bedroom, and saw the chair he'd put against the doorknob the night before had been moved.

"Mmm, what?" Derek groaned, half asleep as Jackson struggled out of his arms. "Jackson...?"

"My parents saw us!" Jackson hissed, sitting up on the bed. "They always check on me in the morning, the chair is moved,  _they saw us!_ " He needed to call his parents, and explain what they'd seen. How could he explain? What lie could he possibly come up with? Fuck.

Derek, obviously not understanding the gravity of the situation, rolled his eyes. "No, they didn't." He said. Jackson stared at him. "Your Mom came in at about 6: 30. The chair thing worked, and I woke up as she was still trying to shove the door open. I hid in the bathroom. It's fine."

Jackson felt a massive weight move from his chest. "Oh," He said, sinking back down on the bed. Derek rolled his eyes again, and pulled Jackson back into his arms. "Okay... good..."

"Can we go back to sleep now?" Derek murmured, kissing the back of Jackson's ear. "I'm not ready for consciousness yet."

Jackson mumbled an agreement, despite being sure that he would not be able to get back to sleep. Now that his initial panic over being discovered by his parents had left, the all consuming panic of the night before had moved back in place.

It felt as if a sword was hanging over his head, held up by the thinnest of threads. Jackson was turning into the kanima again. Would they be able to stop it, this time? He didn't know. He wished he could push it all out of his mind, and just enjoy lying in bed with Derek like this, warm and at least temporarily safe in his arms. They almost never got to spend mornings together like this, he wanted to enjoy it.

It was impossible. He'd been wrong about the sword analogy, that wasn't right. It wasn't as if he had a sword hanging over him, threatening to drop and slice him to bits. That would be one thing. But this, this was more like he was turning into a bomb, one that could explode at any moment. How many would he take with him this time?

Behind him, Derek sighed. "Alright, I'm going to call Deaton, okay?" He said, sitting up. Jackson stared at him, shocked. "I can smell the worry coming off of you," Derek explained.

Jackson wrinkled his nose. "That's sort of creepy..."

Derek shrugged, picking his jeans up off the floor and rooting around in the pocket for his cellphone. Jackson sat up on the bed and grabbed his arm before he could dial. "What are you going to tell him?" He asked.

"What's happening," Derek said, raising his eyebrows. "Jackson, don't worry. No one's going to hurt you. We'll find a way to reverse it. In the mean time, shift."

Jackson nodded, and walked into numbly into his washroom. He stared at himself in the mirror and halfheartedly tried to shift. He could hear Derek on the phone, telling Deaton all about his  _scales_ and try as he might, he couldn't block it out. Deaton took the news well, at least, replying with a somber "Yes, I feared something like that might be happening," which infuriated Jackson to no end. He'd seen this coming, had he? That would have been nice to know.

As Deaton promised Derek he would look in to possible cures, Jackson let his anger build up until he felt his eyes turn blue. With a little bit of focus, he was able to work himself up into a full shift. He lost it a moment later, when Derek knocked on the bathroom door, making him jump. "Jackson?"

Jackson sighed, and pulled the door open. "Yeah, I did it. It was for half a second, but I shifted."

"Good," Derek said, pulling Jackson forward by the hem of his t-shirt. He kissed him openly on the mouth, obviously not caring about morning breath. Derek tilted his head back slightly. "School?" He asked quietly.

Groaning, Jackson looked down at his feet. "Sort of," He mumbled. "I have an exam at two."

"Oh," Derek said. "I guess you probably want to study..."

Jackson looked up at Derek, rolling his eyes as hard as he could. "Are you kidding? For one thing, it's not as if any amount of studying could help me pass this exam and for another, I mean..." He held his hands out at his sides and giving him a look. The night before, Jackson had discovered  _scales_ over his hip. He might be turning into a monster this very moment. How was he supposed to think or care about studying for a fucking  _chemistry_ exam? "I have more important things on my mind right now, Derek."

Derek frowned. "School  _is_ important, Jackson," He said. But he dropped the subject there. Jackson figured this was largely due to him not wanting to leave. And if Jackson wasn't studying, then he wouldn't have to.

That worked fine for Jackson, as he did not want him to leave, either.

* * *

Even in broad daylight, there was still something highly unsettling about the Hale house. It was more than its obvious unsettling qualities, more than the burnt walls and crumbling roof, the dark looming presence of the desecrated house. It was something in the air, something that filled Allison's lungs every time she took a breath. A sense of unease, a sense of wrong.

Maybe it was just all of the horrors she knew had taken place here, or all she'd experienced herself on these grounds. The death of her aunt, helping burn a man alive... being kidnapped by her own father and left tied to a chair for hours.

She supposed it would leave anyone with a sense of unease. Looking around it was clear that she was not the only one feeling it. Lydia in particular had turned pale, and kept looking around sharply, as if she was hearing something.

Allison stepped closer to her friend, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, are you alright?" She asked quietly. Lydia nodded, and gave her a tight lipped smile that Allison thought was meant to say  _hell no._

"Maybe we should wait," Scott said, not for first time. He looked around nervously. "I have a bad feeling,"

"Wow, Scott, that's really weird," Stiles said, completely deadpan. He stroked his chin, fixing Scott with his absolute most serious look. "What do you think it is causing that, exactly?" Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Could it perhaps be the burnt up horror mansion, where like a dozen werewolves were burnt alive? Or maybe it's that patch of dirt, where we dug up half the corpse of Derek's sister—oh, I know! That burnt spot on the grass, where we helped kill Peter!"

Scott stared at Stiles, obviously unimpressed. "What's your point, Stiles?"

"That having a 'bad feeling' at this place is kind of expected, dude."

"Um, can we hurry this along please?" Lydia interrupted. "I'd like to not be here anymore,"

Scott opened his mouth, most likely to tell her she should leave if she felt unsafe, but Lydia gave him a look and he closed it again. "Right," He said, sighing. "Let's get this over with."

Scott entered the house first, followed by Stiles and Lydia. Allison took up the rear, an arrow notched into her bow, looking around for anything that could harm any of them.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Stiles asked, as they entered the decrepit front hall. "I mean, how do we know—"

"I can find it," Lydia whispered. Her eyes were wide. "I can find it, just... shut up for a moment." Stiles opened his mouth, offended. "Shh..."

Allison, Stiles and Scott watched as Lydia walked slowly through the house, leaning forward slightly as if listening for something. Allison remembered what she'd said, about the dagger whispering to her... she wondered if same sort of thing was happening now. A knot twisted in her stomach, as she wondered, not for the first time, what was going on with her friend.

In the middle of what Allison supposed was some sort of sitting room, Lydia stopped. She turned slowly, and stared at something Allison couldn't see. "There," She whispered, pointing in front of her. "Behind there."

After glancing at Scott and Stiles, Allison made her way slowly forward, bow still at the ready. She entered the sitting room, and found Lydia staring at a large cracked mirror, tilted back against a pile of something that had once been a piece of furniture.

"Behind the mirror?" Stiles asked, coming up behind Allison. Lydia nodded. Stiles looked at Scott, who stepped forward and reached behind the shattered glass.

Scott frowned, pulling up a pair of sunglasses. "This can't be it," He said, looking from the sunglasses back to the mirror. "There's nothing else back here, Lydia," He stuck his hand behind the mirror, and pulled out a bundle of cloth. "Just some rags..."

"Maybe there's something in the rags?" Stiles suggested.

Scott examined the fabric. He was holding two pieces of clothing that looked strangely familiar to Allison. One was a long, knitted scarf with an ugly pattern, the other an impossibly oversized poncho. Allison looked from the scarf, to the sunglasses, to the poncho, and wondered why it seemed so damn familiar.

"Oh, my god," Lydia said. Allison turned, saw her eyes were wide again. "The transfer students."

Stiles furrowed his brow. "The what, the transfer students? What transfer—" Stiles' eyes widened again. "Holy shit, you're right."

Allison sucked in her breath, feeling a wave of nausea come over her. The girls at school, the new girls. The ones Lydia had always disliked. These were  _their_ clothes. "Oh god..." Allison muttered. There was something, something else... some fog clearing in the back of her brain. Something clicking into place.

The girl with the sunglasses, staring at her in class. The girl whose eyes she couldn't see. A ghostly figure, floating at the end of her bed. A figure with no eyes.

"It was them," Allison whispered. "The whole time, they were right there... they're the witches..." She felt dizzy. "They're at the school."

"That's why everyone's going crazy," Scott said, his eyes wide. "The teacher who killed herself, the way everyone's been acting—the nightmares—that's why it's happening to us!"

"Ha!" Lydia shouted suddenly, making them all jump.  _"Ha, I told you they were evil!"_ She crossed her arms triumphantly. "I knew it, I knew it the  _whole_ time and  _no one_ believed me! I was  _right!_ Who's crazy now, eh?"

"No one said you were crazy, Lydia," Allison said. "And you never said they were  _evil,_ you said you said they dressed terribly,"

"Same difference!" Lydia said, her eyes gleaming. "Now I say we discuss how I was right and you all should have listened to me on the way home, because if I have to stay in this house one more second I might scream."

Then she turned on her heel, and walked out. Once more, Scott, Allison and Stiles all exchanged looks, and then, numbly, followed Lydia out the door.


	18. Bonds

* * *

"Sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine. I couldn't get the boy to kill me,  
But I wore his jacket for the longest time."  
—Richard Sikken,  _Crush_

* * *

Allison was sitting in a movie theatre, but she didn't know what movie she'd come to see. The theatre was dark, but the screen was flickering, shedding light on the seats around her. She was alone in the theatre—no, there was one other person there, three rows in front of Allison.

" _Allison..."_ Allison heard her name spoken from all around her, as if it had been cast through the theatres speakers. She looked around, and jumped slightly. The other person was now sitting next to her, staring at her with an eyeless face. "Hello Allison," The girl said. She was wearing the same long white dress she'd been wearing the last time Allison had seen her, but there was something more solid about her appearance. She was no longer ghost like, or blurry. She felt real. Whole.

Allison realized she was dreaming. "I know who you are," She blurted out.

Slowly, the girl raised a finger to her lips, as if to shush her. "Do not speak of it," She whispered. "Even here, it is not safe. We cannot stay long."

"What? Why isn't it safe?" Allison looked around her, at the theatre, at the screen—it was playing static, she could see now—and shook her head. "Aren't we in my head? It's my dream, isn't it? What's safer than my head?"

"We would be safe in your head, but this is not where we are. The dreamscape is another plane entirely."

Allison gaped at her for a moment, and then held up her hands. "You know what, I don't even want to know. Fine, we're in the dreamscape, whatever that means. What do you want?"

"We told you before, we wish to help."

"Help me do  _what?_ Take down the coven? Isn't it  _your_ coven?" Allison demanded.

The girl didn't answer. Instead she turned slowly towards the movie screen. Allison turned as well, and saw the static had been replaced by the image of four familiar girls, running and laughing in a field. These were the girls from her dreams.

The image changed; the same four girls, now in a forest clearing, holding hands around a fire. The girls chanted, and as the did the fire rose up high and changed colours. Then it changed again, and Allison saw the dream she'd been having play out again. Three girls mutilated themselves in turn; one gouged out her eyes, another cut out her tongue and sewed her lips closed and the third chopped off her arms at the elbows. Then they turned around and ripped out the heart of a fourth girl, tied to a post by the fire.

The image cut out, and the static came back.

Allison, feeling slightly sick, turned back to the face the eyeless girl next to her.

The girl had her face turned towards her again. "This is our coven," She said. Her voice was empty, devoid of emotion. "And we wish to help you defeat them."

"Those girls looked like they were from the 1800's," Allison said. "That  _can't_ be your coven. They can't still be alive—especially not after doing  _that_ to themselves."

"We are not alive," The girl said. "Nor are we dead. We shed our bodies, our life as you understand it. We became more... and less."

Allison gaped at her. She had no idea what to say.

"Allison, we need your help, to stop us. We cannot do it alone. Continue your search for answers, they are buried deep but must be found. Consult the druids, and the mongrels... your friend the harbinger. You will need  _all_ their help." Allison thought she saw the girl's lip curl, as if she was asking Allison to do something she found particularity distasteful. "We must leave now, we've spoken too long."

"What? No, wait—"

"I apologize for the illness you will feel upon awakening."

Allison's furrowed her brow. "What?"

Suddenly the dream was gone, and Allison was in her bed, gasping, heart was hammering in her chest, soaked in sweat. As she lay there, a wave of nausea rolled over her, and she bolted towards the bathroom.

After she finished vomiting, she sat down on the cool bathroom floor, going over everything the girl had told her... and realizing that this was all so much worse than any of them had imagined.

* * *

As Jackson slouched out of the classroom, he knew he had failed the exam he'd just written. If he was lucky, he would wind up having gotten maybe one or two questions right.  _Maybe._ But there was no way had passed, or even come close—for one thing, he had left several questions blank. In one answer, he had just written "Covalent bonds I don't know, seriously" and left it at that. Were covalent bonds even a chemistry thing? He honestly couldn't say. Oh well.

Truthfully, Jackson didn't much care about the exam, pass or fail. All he cared about was getting back to Derek, and spending the rest of the day and night in his arms. Derek had told him to come back to the loft after his exam, promised he'd find some way of getting rid of Isaac for the night. And Jackson was grateful, because at this point the thought of being with him again was the only thing that was keeping him moving.

"Jackson, just the man I wanted to see!"

Jackson turned around, surprised to find Isaac striding down the hall towards him, a smile on his face. This was new. "What do you want?" He asked, as Isaac approached.

Isaac reached out and clasped a hand on Jackson's shoulder. Jackson flinched. "You and I need to have a talk, my good friend," He said.

Jackson raised an eyebrows. "Is something wrong?" He asked. Then, panicking slightly, "Is it Derek?"

Isaac raised his hands. "Calm down, dude. Derek's fine. This is about you... and me, and well all of us, really." Jackson stared at him, and Isaac grinned. "Walk with me," He said.

They walked down the hall, Jackson trailing just a step behind Isaac, staring at him and wondering if he'd lost his mind. "So," Isaac said, glancing at Jackson over his shoulder. "What I wanted to talk to you about is how you haven't really bonded with the pack. Me and Erica and Boyd, I mean." Jackson glowered, and Isaac raised his eyebrows. "Come on, you know what I'm talking about," He said.

Jackson ducked his head and mumbled "maybe," under his breath. "So what?"

"So, I think we should fix that," Isaac said. He stopped walking, and turned to face Jackson. "Obviously there's a lot of issues between all of us, I mean you weren't exactly nice to us for the last seven or eight years, but that's all behind us now. We're pack, and we should act like it." Isaac paused, but Jackson just continued to stare at him, wondering where the hell he was going with all of this. "I think a lot of the problem is we haven't really had the  _opportunity_ to bond. I mean, we all hang out in different circles at school, and training isn't much help—hard to bond with someone when they're punching you in the face. So I've been thinking, if we were all to just hang out together, in a no pressure environment, y'know just chill, watch some movies, that sort of thing—that could help, you know?"

"Uh, okay..."

Isaac grinned. "Great, you're on board. Now, the problem is we don't really have a place to do that. The loft would be a perfect place... problem is, no television there. Can't watch movies with no television, right?"

Jackson's mouth opened slightly, as what Isaac was getting slowly occurred to him. "You want Derek to buy a television?" He asked, slightly stunned. That whole big speech, the bullshit about bonding... all because he wanted a freaking television?

"Not just any television," Isaac said. He dug into his backpack, and pulled out a folded up flier. "This television."

Jackson took the flier and unfolded it, saw it was from an electronics store advertising a sale on televisions. A 60 inch LED HD TV had been circled in blue pen. Jackson looked at the flier, then at Isaac. "Why the hell are you showing me this?" He asked.

"Because I've tried going directly to Derek, and I might as well as be telling a brick wall I want this TV," Isaac explained. "Actually, I'd be better off with the brick wall, because the brick wall can't threaten to hurt you when you annoy it. So I figure I'd ask  _you_ to ask him."

"What makes you think he'd listen to  _me?_ " Jackson asked.

Isaac gave him knowing a look. "Won't he?" He asked.

" _No,"_ Jackson snapped. His mouth felt slightly dry. Isaac knew? Obviously. He wouldn't be asking Jackson if he didn't. Since when had he known?

Jackson thought back to the way Isaac had volunteered him to take care of Derek, when he'd been wounded. Had he known then, too? That was weeks ago. Had that been Isaac doing Jackson a favour?

If Isaac knew, did they all know?

Jackson looked at Isaac, who was still staring at him, waiting for an answer he liked better. Isaac knew about him and Derek... possibly had known for weeks... and this is what he was doing with that information? Trying to get a television?

Jackson sighed. "Maybe," He said, shoving the flier back into Isaac's hands.

Isaac's face lit up, and Jackson rolled his eyes. "I'll talk to him, okay? But no guarantees. A brick wall is a brick wall."

"All I'm asking is an attempt," Isaac said. "I'm gonna spend the night at Erica's tonight, so you can, you know... go ask..." Isaac glanced away, scratching his head.

"Erica's parents let you sleep over?" Jackson asked.

Isaac shrugged. "Yeah, Erica told them I'm gay, so they don't care. Plus they know about her and Boyd, so..."

"What about her and Boyd?"

"That they're dating,"

_"They are?"_

Isaac laughed, and the corners of his eyes crinkled together, accentuating the dark circles underneath that Jackson hadn't noticed before. Had Isaac's nightmares been getting worse, too? He wondered how Erica was doing. "Man, you  _really_ do need to hang out with us more." He said, turning around. "I'll see you, okay?" Isaac walked off down the hall, and Jackson stared after him, thinking that he may not be wrong.

* * *

Stacks of books surrounded Derek and Jackson as they lay on Derek's bed, each with a large dusty volume in their hands. Derek was avidly reading his, turning pages with a look of intense concentration. Jackson was watching Derek do this, every now and then turning back to his own book, and reading a random sentence.

As he watched, Derek closed his book and tossed it off near the foot of the bed, then picked up another massive book from his night table. As he settled back down, he noticed Jackson staring, and raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"Is this really what you invited me over here to do?" Jackson asked, closing his own book. "Read?"

"Yes,"

"Well I'm bored,"

Derek's eyebrows raised even higher on his forehead. "Jackson, we're not reading for fun. We're looking for information on how to stop the kanima curse. Aren't you just a  _little_ bit interested in doing that? Hmm?"

Jackson sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Of course I am, but sitting here staring at a dusty book—"

"—reading, you're supposed to be reading it, not staring—"

"—Just feels useless." Jackson raised his own eyebrows, back at Derek. "Be honest, you've found nothing."

Derek shook his head. "We just started looking. And I know Deaton is looking too—we'll find something, Jackson."

"And if we don't?"

"Then we'll find those witches, and kill them. With any luck, the curse will die with them."

Jackson turned away, and began picking at the frayed spine of the book in his lap. "...What if it wasn't the witches that did this to me," He said quietly. "What if it's something I brought on myself, like the first time."

Derek shook his head. "No, this is different. You're already a werewolf this time. You're one of us."

Isaac's words came back to him, echoing hollowly in his ears: _Y_ _ou haven't really bonded with the pack... Me and Erica and Boyd..._

Could that be part of the reason why? If he'd bonded properly, made himself one of the pack, could this all have been avoided?

"Do you think it could be because of the way... because of how I haven't bonded with them?" Jackson asked slowly. "Isaac, Erica and Boyd... we haven't really bonded, as a pack. What if that's part of the reason why I'm turning again?"

"It's the witches," Derek repeated. Jackson rolled his eyes again; Derek was stubborn, impossible to reason with. He couldn't be logical about this, couldn't consider the ways it might be Jackson's own fault.

Wolves were stronger in a pack, physically stronger. Maybe if Jackson bonded with them now, that strength would help repel the kanima curse. And Isaac had given him any easy way to start—or at least, earn his favour. At the very least, it couldn't hurt.

Trying to sound casual, Jackson said, "Maybe if I had an opportunity to bond with them... some place we could just hang out together, pressure free... watch some movies, relax..."

Derek's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I guess that's a good idea..." He said slowly.

"This would be a good place for that," Jackson continued, "A good place to hang out... and if you had a television, we could watch some movies..."

Derek sighed loudly, and dropped his head into his hands. "Isaac got to you too, huh?" He shook his head. "When did he even have  _time_ for that?"

Jackson pursed his lips. "He may have talked to me, after our chemistry exam today—but come on, think about it! If I want to bond with them, this'll help me get on Isaac's good side. And he's right, it  _would_ be a good way to hang out, casually. Call a pack movie night, order pizza. Please?"

Derek sighed, shaking his head. "Fine, I'll get him his damn television. God he's persistent..." Derek lay back down, and pushed the book he'd been reading out of his lap. Then he pulled Jackson towards him and kissed him. "If you think it will help, we'll have a movie night..." He kissed the corner of Jackson's mouth, and then his ear. "But I'm telling you, it's the witches, Jackson. We need to find them, and kill them." He ran his fingers along Jackson's face, and leaned in to kiss him again, but Jackson turned away.

"It's not the witches," He said quietly. "It's me..."

"Jackson—"

"No, it is," Jackson snapped. "I did this to myself, again. It's because—because I'm just nothing, Derek. I've always made a big show of being the best, the star athlete, the popular asshole rich kid—it's because deep down I've always known that under that there was  _nothing._ Nothing whole, nothing good. And my whole life, I've been afraid of someone else seeing that.  _That's_ what the kanima curse is. It's just making sure that everyone can see what I really am."

"You want to know who you are, Jackson?" Derek asked, rising up slightly. He pushed Jackson back on the bed, and pinned his wrists over his head. "You're an idiot." Jackson glared up at Derek, who stared him down. "If you think you're nothing, you're an idiot. And I think you know that that's bullshit, and you're just scared to face the truth. Scared to face the person you really are."

Jackson stuck out his chin, but said nothing. "Do you need me to tell you?" Derek said quietly. "You're Jackson Whittemore, a rich, self involved idiot who spent his whole life trying to convince everyone he was the best, to hide how scared and insecure he really was. You're someone who's trying to figure out how to live their life now that all their pompous bravado is gone, and all they've been left with is that fear they tried to hide. You think you're a monster, but the truth is you're just a dumb, lost kid looking for some answers that no one else can give you. You're Jackson Whittemore, and you don't understand that it's okay to be scared, and lost. It doesn't make you nothing, Jackson, it makes you human." Derek let go of his wrists, and pressed his forehead against Jackson's. He ran his thumb of Jackson's cheek, and Jackson sucked in his breath. "You're Jackson Whittemore... and you're someone that I love ."

The words hung in the air between them, and for a moment Jackson was uncomprehending. He stared up at Derek, blinking, confused. And Derek looked back at him, and pressed their lips together, softly. And Jackson understood.

In the moment, Jackson understood something with perfect clarity; Derek would not be able to kill him. Not this time.

Jackson hadn't even realized he had been counting on that until it was gone, but it was true. If he turned into the kanima again, there was no one left to end him. Derek wouldn't be able to, and no one else would have the strength.

"Jackson?" Derek said. There was a vulnerability in his voice that Jackson didn't think he'd heard before. "Are you okay?"

Instead of answering, Jackson reached up and kissed Derek, as hard as he could. He wrapped his arms over Derek's shoulders, and heard books clatter to the floor as Derek stretched out over him. Derek pinned his wrists over his head again, and began roughly kissing Jackson's neck. Jackson moaned, and struggled to get his wrists out of Derek's grasp. Derek held them tighter.

"Are you sure you want to?" Derek murmured, licking at a spot under Jackson's ear. Jackson nodded, frantically. He didn't just want to, he needed to. Needed Derek. Derek would not be able to give him the other thing he needed, but he could give him this. This comfort. "Hard or soft?" Derek asked. He pulled back for a moment, and waited for an answer.

Jackson lifted his head up, and bit Derek's bottom lip. " _Hard,_ " He whispered. Derek smiled down at him, a knowing, indulgent smile that was so obviously loving, Jackson felt like an idiot for not having seen it before.

Derek held Jackson's hands behind his back while he fucked him, bent over his bed and moaning into the mattress. Jackson thought that it had begun to rain, while they fucked—there was a familiar pitter patter at the windows, and rain was all too common these days—but afterwards, when Jackson was lying in Derek's arms and staring out the wide window at the back of Derek's loft, he realized it hadn't been raining at all.

It had begun to hail.


	19. Shopping

* * *

"The only time I feel alright is by your side."  
—The Kinks,  _All Day And All Of The Night_

* * *

The morning was cloudy and grey, but the light streaming through Derek's large uncovered windows still woke Jackson early. He stirred in Derek's arms, and squeezed his eyelids shut against the harsh white light.

"Mmm, you need some freakin' drapes..." He mumbled. He lifted his head up and looked at Derek, whose eyes were still closed. For a moment Jackson thought he was still asleep.

Derek's brow furrowed, and he frowned. "I can't get drapes," He said, opening his eyes slowly and peering at Jackson. "I have a reputation to maintain." Derek suppressed a grin. "What would my enemies say if they saw me buying drapes?"

Jackson rolled his eyes, and lay back down against Derek's chest. " _I'll_ buy you the drapes," He said. He began to close his eyes again, when he suddenly remembered. It had been easy to forget last night, while Derek had been fucking him silly, but now in the morning, while they were just lying there...

_Scales._

Jackson pulled himself out of Derek's arms and began rooting around on the floor for his t-shirt.

"What are you doing?" Derek asked, as Jackson pulled on his shirt and boxers. "You're leaving?"

Jackson shook his head. "No, I just..." He shrugged. His heart was still going like a jackhammer against his ribs. He took a deep breath, and lay back down against the bed. "I just needed to cover up."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Oh, okay. You're not leaving, you're just being an idiot."

Jackson gaped at him. " _Excuse me?_ "

"You're an idiot if you think I care about that,"

"Oh, I'm sorry—you don't  _care_ that I'm turning into a homicidal lizard?" Jackson started to sit up on the bed, but Derek put his hand on his chest, shoving him back down.

"I didn't mean it like that," Derek stared at him, and Jackson could see the hurt in his eyes. "I just meant—you don't have to cover yourself up, around me."

Jackson sighed, and put his hand on Derek's neck. "It's not about you, it's just...  _I_ don't want to see it. I don't them want to exist."

"Jackson—"

"I know, I know, we'll figure it out," Jackson kissed Derek, and ran his fingers through his hair. He tried not to think about the hail from the night before, and what that meant. Hail, in California, in  _June._ If they could do that, change the weather like that... that had to take some serious power. Not that he was thinking about it.

"So today, more research?" Jackson continued. "I promise I'll actually  _read_ the books today." He'd been ridiculous yesterday, whining and complaining when he should have been reading every book his could get his hands. He needed to figure this out, it wasn't going away on its own. No amount of distractions would save him. And now he had lost his fail safe.

But Derek was right—he  _had_ to be right—there had to be answers out there, and he  _would_ find them.

Jackson would not let this happen to himself.

Derek pressed his forehead against Jackson's, and kissed him softly. "Actually, I have a few more books I wanted to pick up today. There's a store downtown that managed to track a few down for me, they should be in by now."

Jackson blinked. "Oh," He said, turning away. "I guess I'll go home then. Maybe I can take some of the books with me—"

"I was thinking," Derek interrupted, raising his eyebrows. "That we could have some breakfast, then go together. If you don't have any exams today..."

"I don't,"

A small smile tugged at the corner of Derek's mouth. Jackson felt his heart give a little  _thump_ in his chest. "Good," Derek said, leaning in and kissing Jackson again. "That's good."

* * *

The bookstore was called  _Landis Books,_ and was located in a part of downtown that Jackson had never been to. Given a choice in the matter, he would have preferred to have kept it that way.

The store was small and dusty, practically overflowing with books. It wasn't just the bookshelves that were crammed with them; books were stacked on top of every available surface. Teetering piles of books filled every corner, some in boxes and some just stacked upon the floor. Jackson couldn't walk through the musty aisles without tripping over old volumes with names like "A Partial History of The Arachnothrope" and "The Beginnings Guide to Transmutation."

At the back of the cramped store was a small reading area; three worn arm chairs and a small wooden coffee table (covered in  _more friggin' books_ ). Jackson waited there, pretending to read the Arachno-whatever book, while Derek talked to the store's owner about the books he wanted.

Really, Jackson was just sulking.

On the car ride down, Jackson had made the mistake of answering a call from his mother, who spent 10 minutes screaming at him for not coming home the night before. His cellphone had been off all night, and when he'd turned it on he'd found he had 14 missed calls; 12 from his parents, and 2 from Danny. Apparently she called him in the hopes that Jackson was at his house, which meant that he couldn't even lie about his whereabouts. In the end, he refused to tell her where he'd been, and she'd screamed herself coarse at him. Then she'd demanded that he come home, immediately.

That was when he hung up, and switched off his phone. He just couldn't deal with that crap right now. There were bigger things on his mind.

"Ready to go?"

Jackson turned around and closed his book as Derek walked towards him, three large books in his arms. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the volume in Jackson's hands. "You're reading about werespiders?" He asked.

"Huh?" Jackson glanced down, and for the first time noticed the faded drawing of a spider on the cover of the book he was holding. "Oh, I guess. Wait, there are werespiders? Real werespiders?" Jackson stood up, and put the book aside. "Seriously?"

Derek grinned at him. "Jackson, the things you don't know about could fill..." He glanced around him. "This entire store, actually."

Jackson rolled his eyes. "Hilarious. Let's get out of here, okay? The dust is making me choke."

They exited the store, and Derek stashed his books in the back of his car. "So, am I taking you home?"

"Are you crazy?" Jackson asked, climbing into the passenger seat. "No way.  _They'll_  be home soon, and I do not want to be there when they are."

Derek sighed. "Alright," He said. Jackson got the feeling he was holding something back. He didn't ask what it was. This wasn't any of Derek's business.

* * *

Lydia parked the car, killed the ignition, and stepped out. "Oh,  _come on!_ " She cried, looking around at the school parking lot. She'd been aiming to go downtown, for a much needed mini-shopping spree. Instead she was at school, with no idea of how she'd got there.

"This is bullshit," Lydia muttered, pulling her car door open again. She was not in the mood for this today, not at all.

_...Lydia..._

Lydia jumped, and whipped around. "Who said that?" There was something familiar about that voice, as if it was someone she knew. But the parking lot was completely empty of people—all the students were inside the school, taking their exams. " _So_ not in the mood for this!"

... _Lydia Martin..._

"Oh, fine!" Lydia snapped, slamming her car door shut. She hoisted her purse up on her shoulder, and strode purposefully towards the school. She didn't know how, but she could tell that's where the voice wanted her to go.

Lydia walked into the school, and followed her gut down into the basement. The lights were dim and flickering down here, and Lydia could hear the pipes creaking around her. No one had used the basement for classes in years, and the disuse was evident. The walls were grimy, the air was hot, the lockers were rusted. Lydia made a noise of disgust, and continued forward.

It was the classroom at the end of the hallway that she needed to go to. She walked slowly, knowing that whatever she was going to find, it was  _not_ going to be pleasant. The whispering voice followed her as she went, urging her forward.

Lydia approached the classroom slowly, and pushed against the door. It creaked as it opened, a high noise that contained more whispers, telling her she was in the right place. It was a girl's voice she was hearing, quiet and sad. She was sure now she'd heard it before.

She would have to figure it out later, because the moment she opened the door she was too busy thinking about all the god damned  _blood_ to consider anything was everywhere, pooling out from the centre of the room, where a pale corpse lay. Lydia didn't know who it was, their face was turned away from her—she could tell it was a boy, and he had slit his wrists with a straight razor—but that was all.

Lydia couldn't explain why she took a step forward, but she did. She stepped forward, toward the pool of blood, and in doing so, caught her reflection in it. She stared at herself in the dark red surface... and then, she wasn't staring at herself. She was staring at a girl with long brown hair, a thin face and large dark eyes. The girls mouth was set in a thin line and as Lydia watched, her lips parted and she whispered  _"Scream, Lydia."_

And, realizing where she had heard the girls voice before, Lydia opened her mouth and screamed.

* * *

The apartment was still empty when Derek and Jackson returned to it. Isaac was no where to be found, and Jackson was relieved. Even if he already knew about him and Derek, and seemed at least sort of okay with it, Jackson wasn't quite ready to be  _with Derek,_ around others. That would take some getting used to.

"Do you think the others know about us?" Jackson asked.

Derek, busy piling his new books on top of his old books, gave a one shouldered shrug. "Probably," He said. "If Isaac figured it out, I'm sure Erica and Boyd did too."

Jackson groaned. "I hate that..." He muttered. "You can't take out their memories, could you?" Derek turned to him, and raised an eyebrow. "What? That's something werewolves can do, isn't it?"

"Yes, but it's not something  _I_ can do," Derek crossed him arms over his chest. "And more importantly, it's not something I  _would_ do."

"It was just a suggestion..."

Derek stepped towards him, and hooked his fingers into the belt loops of Jackson's jeans. "You of all people should be happy to hear I can't do that," He said, pulling Jackson towards him.

"I don't care that you can't do it," Jackson said, as Derek wrapped his arms over his shoulders, and kissed the corner of his mouth. "I care that you wouldn't."

Derek looked at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned in and kissed him, wide and deep and gentle... and slowly, very slowly, as if he knew he had all the time in the world to be kissing Jackson. And if he'd had it, if he'd had all the time in the world, Jackson knew he would have given it to Derek. Jackson wasn't sure how much time he did have, but he knew this was how he was going to spend it. He would kiss Derek until he had no time left.

Derek pulled back, and his mouth quirked into a smile. "I want to show you something," He said.

"Uh, okay..."

Derek led Jackson out of the loft, and down the long hallway of his building. "I was going to wait until it was finished to you show," Derek said, as he unlocked the door of another apartment. "But what the hell."

Derek pushed the door open, and they entered into a loft mirror identical to Derek's. Well, almost identical—this loft was a lot more run down and shabby. The large windows were covered in boards, the floor was warped and the walls were water damaged. It was almost completely empty, except for a bed and a chest of drawers.

"Obviously there's still a lot of work that needs to get done," Derek explained, walking in past Jackson. "But the heat and water works—I had some guys come in and fix up the bathroom last week... it's not what I would call livable, but..." Derek shrugged, "If you ever needed some place to stay, for whatever reason..."

Jackson blinked a few times, and looked around the run down loft. "You're renovating this place... for me?"

"Well, when I bought this building, the plan was to eventually fix up the whole thing, for the pack... and I figured this way, you could stay over, whether or not Isaac was here. If you needed to, I mean."

"How thick would you say the walls are, between this loft and yours?"

Derek furrowed his brow. "I don't know... fairly thick, I guess. Why?"

"Because if I'm staying over, I think it goes without saying that you'll be staying with me, and I'd really prefer if Isaac couldn't hear us."

Derek opened his mouth, then seemed to reconsider, and closed it again. He thought for a moment. "They're not soundproof," He said. "But as long as you keep the screaming to a minimum, and Isaac doesn't purposely listen in, we should be okay."

Jackson grinned, and leaned in to press his mouth against Derek's. "Perfect..."

* * *

"Luis Kennedy," Allison said softly. She switched the phone from one ear to another, tilting her head to the side to sandwich it against her shoulder. "That was his name."

On the other end of the line, Lydia was silent. "I don't think I knew him," She said after a moment.

"He was in ninth grade,"

More silence greeted this piece of information. "Oh..."

"Every one was talking about it at my exam today," Allison continued. "No one knows it was you who found him, thank god." She waited a moment, but Lydia did not volunteer  _how_ she had happened to find him. Allison assumed that meant it was just like the last time, and Lydia herself had no idea.

"How was your exam? It was English, right?"

Allison sighed. "I'm pretty sure I failed, actually," She admitted. "It was just two massive essay questions, and I completely blanked—"

"Allison! We studied for English! You knew Catcher in the Rye backwards and forwards!"

"I guess I had other things on my mind, Lydia. Like the police circling the school, and the fact that  _three witches_ made it hail last night.  _Three_ witches are causing all of this chaos! Do you know how powerful they have to be?"

"I have an idea," Lydia replied. "Speaking of which—no pun intended—I'm coming over tomorrow. I need to have a look at that dagger again."

Allison raised her eyebrows. "Seriously? You hate that thing." She was planning on calling another meeting again, with Lydia, Scott and Stiles, so that worked fine for her. But Lydia hadn't even wanted to be  _near_ the dagger before, let alone make a special trip over to examine it.

Lydia sighed. "I know I just... when I was at the school, I heard this voice... it led me to the body." Lydia paused, and Allison could imagine her pursing her lips as she struggled to divulge this information. "I recognized it. It was one of the voices I heard from the dagger."

"Oh..."

"Those dreams you have, with the girls like,  _maiming_ themselves—you said there was a forth girl, right? One cuts out her tongue, one her eyes, another her arms—and then a forth girl has her heart ripped out? That's the dream?"

"Yeah..."

"I think that's her. The fourth girl. I think it was her voice."

Allison blinked. "Lydia, she's  _dead._ And I don't mean, like she's shed her mortal body to become an ultra-powerful witch who's neither dead or alive, I mean she's  _dead_ dead."

Another sigh. "Yes, Allison. I know."

They both sat in silence for a moment, considering what that meant. Lydia was hearing the voices of dead girls. Could a dead witch still have the power to contact someone, like the witch with no eyes contacted Allison? Or was this something  _Lydia_ was doing?

Neither answer seemed to offer much comfort.

"I'm planning on inviting Stiles and Scott over tomorrow, to discuss that last dream I had," Allison said. "You can have a look at the dagger then, I guess."

"Thank you, Allison. I'll talk to you later, okay?" Allison heard the sound of a car pull over, and the ignition shut off.

"Okay... hey, where are you, anyways?"

"Downtown," Lydia replied. "After the day I've had, I  _really_ needed to go shopping."

* * *

Derek and Jackson were once again sprawled out on Derek's bed, surrounded by old books. The difference was, this time Jackson was actually reading. He was determined not to let himself succumb to any more distractions (although he didn't exactly regret the time he and Derek had wasted, christening the new apartment).

Jackson made a face as he turned a page of "20th Century American Witches and Warlocks," and found yet another gruesome depiction of a victim of witchcraft. This picture showed a man in the process of having his body twisted into some kind of knot-form. The caption read "A victim of the 'Human Pretzel' curse, popular among witches in New Jersey, during the 1940's."

_See, it could be worse,_ Matt's voice whispered, somewhere in the back of his head.  _You could be a human pretzel. A bloodthirsty lizard isn't so bad in comparison, is it?_

Jackson straightened his back, and turned another page. He refused to listen to Matt—he would  _not_ be the kanima again.

_Yes, you will be, Jackson. You'll be a monster, and you'll be mine. Just like it should be._

"Are you alright?" Derek asked. He put his arm over Jackson's shoulder, and Matt's voice faded to silence. "Your heart just started beating really fast."

Jackson forced a smile, and lifted up the book to show Derek the picture. Derek nodded. "Yeah, there's some disturbing stuff in these books." Derek pointed to the book he was reading. "Ever wanted to know what a human being looks like inside out? Because I did not."

Jackson grimaced. "That's seriously disgusting." He sighed, and lay down against Derek's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of Derek's heart beat until his slowed to match it.

"Do you want to take a break?" Derek asked quietly.

Jackson shook his head. "No, I want to keep reading," He said, lifting his head up. "I just want to be closer to you while I do it. Can you keep your arm around me?"

Derek nodded. "Sure," He said.

It was easier after that, reading about the all the disturbing things to the different witches and warlocks and covens did to innocent people. Easier to take it all in, when he had Derek's arm around him. Derek, close enough that every breath brought in a wave of his scent, familiar and secure. And Matt's voice seemed to have shut up, at least for the time being.

Jackson never felt so good as he did when he was with Derek. And more and more, he was beginning to think that there was no reason they ever had to be apart.


	20. Help

* * *

"For many men there is so much grief,  
And my mind is proud but it aches with rage.  
And if I live too long,  
I'm afraid I'll die."  
—The Kinks,  _Strangers_

* * *

In his dreams, Matt was always alive. It was as if he had never been killed, as if Gerard Argent had never drowned him and then taken control of Jackson for himself. None of that had happened, and none of it would ever happen. In Jackson's dreams, time had stood still.

It had taken Matt some time, to work around to what he would do to Jackson. He denied his curiously, his interest, shoved the thought from his mind for as long as he could. But Matt had been lonely, very lonely... and Jackson was in his total control. It was practically inevitable, what would happen.

Matt started with a kiss. In his own bedroom, with the blinds pulled down and the door locked, Matt sat Jackson down on his bed and kissed him. He had been nervous, before he did it. Jackson was able to smell it on him, smell it in the sweat rolling down his back and hear it in thrum of his heart beat. But despite the nerves, his pounding heart and sweaty palms, he did it anyways.

When he relived the kiss in his dreams, Jackson tried to fight back. He shouted for Matt to stop, to stay away from him. He knew what this kiss would start, the hunger it would inspire. He knew where it went, and he would not relive that.

Jackson woke up with his arms out in front of him, still trying to push Matt away. He sighed with relief, finding himself in his own bedroom, alone.  _A dream, just another dream._

"I was always gentle with you, Jackson,"

Jackson's stomach flipped, and his heart missed a beat. Was he still dreaming? Slowly, he sat up in his bed. His eyes adjusted to the dark and he was able to see him, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Matt smiled. "Admit it," He said. "You miss me, a little it."

Jackson's mouth hung open. "I'm dreaming," He said stupidly. It didn't feel like a dream. "You're not real. You're dead."

Matt pursed his lips, looking slightly miffed. "Do I look dead, Jackson?"

He didn't. Unlike the last time Jackson had seen him, Matt no longer looked rotted and decayed. He looked whole, normal. Alive. It was so vivid, him sitting there. Jackson could feel the bed dipping slightly under his weight, he could hear Matt's heart beating rhythmically in his chest... he could smell him, the musty, chemical smell he thought came from a darkroom, as if Matt had just been developing some photos.

Matt grinned at him, and shifted closer on the bed. "Let me make this easy for you," He said. "Yes, you're awake. Yes, I'm here. No, you're not insane and no I won't hurt you." He titled his head slightly. "Have I ever hurt you, Jackson?" He asked in a soft, familiar voice.

Without thinking, Jackson shook his head. "No..." He ground his teeth around the answer, hating himself for it. Matt was right, he  _had_ always been gentle with him. Always touched him softly... used him slowly. Never forced or hurt him, because he had no reason to. That was the worst thing of all. _"Yes,_ you did. It was all you did!"

Matt scoffed. "Please,  _when_ did I hurt you? I was always good to you, Jackson. I took care of you."

"You forced me to kill people!" Jackson cried. "You took  _everything_ from me—my choices, my-my body, my life!"

"It wasn't as if you were doing much it," Matt replied. "What were you, before I came along? Jackson Whittemore, popular jock?" He scoffed again. "No one gave a  _shit_ about you Jackson, you were nothing. I turned you into a tool of vengeance, I gave you a purpose—" Matt reached out, and cupped Jackson's face in his hand. "I gave you someone who cared about you, who  _needed you..._ " Jackson's breath hitched in his throat, as Matt's hand drifted down his body, under his shirt. "Come back to me, Jackson..." Matt whispered, leaning in. "Be mine again..."

As Matt's lips brushed over his, something inside Jackson woke up. He shoved Matt backwards and scrambled off the bed, away from him. "Fuck you!" He shouted into the darkness. "You're crazy if you think I'll belong to you again—crazy and-and  _dead! Just stay dead!"_

"Jackson! Jackson are you alright?" Jackson whipped around, hearing his parents banging on his door, struggling to open it against the chair Jackson always leaned against the knob. "Jackson please, let us in!"

"Go away!" Jackson shouted. He turned and locked himself in the bathroom, just as they managed to get into his room. He could hear his mother crying, and when he turned to himself in the mirror, he saw he was too.

"Jackson,  _please,_ please let us in!" His mother sobbed. "I'm sorry I was so harsh the other day, I was just worried, Jackson—"

He could hear his father trying to calm her down, telling her it was no use. He had just had another bad dream, was all. They couldn't force him to let them in.

After a moment they both left, and Jackson heard his door shut.

_... you're crazy if you think I'll belong to you again..._

Jackson swallowed, and slowly lifted his shirt up. He looked at himself in the mirror, looked at the silvery-green scales going up his side. They covered half his torso now.

Jackson let his shirt drop, and he sank to the floor, and cried.

* * *

Lydia was the first to arrive at Allison's, an hour before Scott and Stiles. She hadn't wanted to look at the dagger with them around, on the off chance that she freaked out. She would prefer they not be there to see that.

Neither of them spoke as they entered Allison's bedroom. Allison retrieved the dagger from where she kept it in her dresser, wrapped in cloth. She pulled the bundle out and handed it to Lydia, who unwrapped it with shaking hands. She held the dagger by its black hilt, and let the cloth fall the floor. Lydia's eyes were round as coins.

"Can you hear it?" Allison asked, feeling uncertain. Lydia nodded, slowly. "What's it saying?"

Lydia's jaw tightened. "It's screaming..." She whispered. Lydia shook her head, as if trying to get a grip on herself. "So many voices... I can barely make anything out..." Lydia's jaw tightened, and she flexed her fingers on the hilt. "I can hear them chanting... and something else..." Lydia put her other hand on the blade of the knife. She blinked rapidly, and then slowly tilted her head towards it, as if listening closer. "What...?"

Allison watched her for a moment. "Anything?" She asked.

Lydia nodded. "I think she's saying... 'animus'... 'communico'...?" Lydia sighed, and straightened up. "That's what it sounds like. "Animus communico." Allison raised her eyebrows. "It's latin," Lydia explained. "It means 'mind share.'"

"Oh," Allison said. "Does that mean something to you?"

"Not a thing," Lydia placed the dagger on Allison's dresser, and grabbed the cloth from the floor. "Well that was fun," She said, covering the dagger back up. "Why can't someone just send up a clear message for once? 'These are the bad guys, this is how you take them down.'"

Allison sighed. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

"And extremely unlikely,"

"That too."

* * *

Jackson shifted around uncomfortably as he waited on Deaton's operating table. He was shirtless, and though he tried to keep the scaled section of his torso covered with his arms, he was failing miserably.

He jumped slightly as Derek placed a hand on his shoulder. "Stop fidgeting," Derek mumbled. If he had noticed that the scaled area had grown, he didn't let on. "It'll be alright, he wouldn't have called us here if he didn't have something."

"I know that," Jackson mumbled back. "But he couldn't have let me keep my shirt  _on?_ "

Derek opened his mouth, but cut his reply off as Deaton reentered the room. "This was all I was able to make, but it should be enough for now," Deaton said, showing them a small bottle of bright yellow liquid. "It's a remedy for curses, a sort of cleanser of magic." He explained. "It should be applied once daily, directly to the scales," Jackson winced slightly at the word, "And hopefully it will reverse the process—you can still shift?"

Jackson nodded weakly. He forced himself into a full shift at least once a day, and held it as long as he could. He didn't know if it was his imagination or not, but he thought it was getting harder. He hadn't told Derek that. Nor had he told Derek of the events of the night before. Part of him wanted to—he knew Derek would want to know—but he couldn't bring himself to worry him any more than he already had.

"Good," Deaton said, turning around and opening one of his cupboards. He pulled out a white cloth, and folded it up. "We'll do a test run right now, just to get an idea of the effects."

Derek raised his eyebrows. "Effects?"

Deaton nodded. "I'm not sure what they'll be, exactly. Probably nothing too severe, I just wanted to be there the first time it was used."

Derek's eyes narrowed. "What's in it?" He asked.

"The main ingredients are Asafoetida and extract of Elder."

Derek nodded, and Jackson wondered if those words actually meant something to him, or if he was just pretending they did.

Deaton screwed the lid off the bottle, and poured a small amount onto the cloth. When the scent of it hit Jackson, he felt a strange tugging sensation in his chest. "Are you ready?"

Slowly, Jackson nodded.

Deaton stepped towards him, and pressed the cloth to the scales running along Jackson's side. The liquid burned on contact, and Jackson growled. He could still feel that strange tugging in his chest, and it grew worse and turned painful as Deaton continued to apply the remedy. Jackson felt himself beginning to shift—there was a buzzing in his head, and he couldn't think clearly. He didn't know what was happening, but he knew he needed to get away.

When he tried to get off the table, Derek stopped him, forcing him back down. Jackson growled at him, and Derek growled back, loudly and with force.

Somewhere outside the buzzing, Jackson heard Deaton say he was done. His side continued to burn, and that strange feeling in chest continued to pull at him, pull him in all different directions. He needed to get away, to tear at someone and rip their limps apart—he needed to hide, to get to safety—he needed Derek, needed him to fuck him, to take care of him—

"Jackson, Jackson calm down—!"

Slowly, Jackson came to his senses. He was lying back on the operating table, held down by Derek, whom he'd be trying desperately to fight off. Jackson blinked, and saw a long scratch on Derek's cheek finish healing. "Did I do that?" He asked hoarsely.

Derek sighed. "Yeah, you did," He said, letting go of him.

Jackson sat up, holding his head in his hands. It was throbbing like crazy. Slowly, he felt himself shift back to normal. "Sorry," He said.

Derek shrugged, and Jackson took that to mean he wasn't upset.

"Well, that was interesting," Deaton said. Jackson had forgotten he was in the room. "Unfortunately it means you won't be able to apply it yourself, not if it affects you like that. You can stop by here once a day, if you want, and I can apply it for you—"

"I'll do it," Derek said.

"Are you sure? If you were to get any on you, it would affect you as well..."

"Just the smell of it is affecting me," Derek said. "It's fine, I can handle it." He held out his hand, and Deaton placed the bottle in it.

* * *

"You know, Allison, if this is going to be a regular thing, you could at least make sure your house has some decent snacks."

Stiles let the cupboard door swing shut, then turned around and gave her a judgmental look. "I'm just saying. You have nothing. Seriously nothing."

"I could make tea?" Allison suggested. Stiles face twisted in disgust. "Coffee?"

"Stiles, we'll get some food on the way home, alright?" Scott said, raising his eyebrows. "Would you just sit down?"

Stiles gave a loud, long suffering sigh, and then sat down at Allison's kitchen table, next to Scott. "Alright, alright. What's the plan?"

Allison and Lydia exchanged looks. "Well, this sort of is this plan." She confessed. Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Talking to you guys, I mean. I was hoping that the four of us could figure out an.. actual plan." She looked to Scott, who was wearing a concentrated frown on his face.

"Maybe it shouldn't just be the four of us," Scott said slowly. He glanced up at Allison. "The witch in your dreams, she said you should talk to the werewolves, right? That you'd need our help?"

"Yeah, along with the whoever the druids and my friend the harbinger is,"

"Well, maybe you need  _all_ of us," Scott said. "Maybe we need Derek and his pack. Maybe we can figure something out,  _together,_ "

Allison's back stiffened. "I doubt they'd be willing to work with us..."

"Well, maybe not," Stiles said, with a shrug. "I mean, they all seemed pretty keen to be included that time we were meeting on the bleachers."

"Exactly," Scott agreed. "They want to help,"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "They wanted to know what we knew," She said.

"What's so wrong with that?" Scott argued. "They want to know what we know, we want to know what they know. We  _all_ want to figure this thing out, we should be working together." He looked around at them. "I say we pool our resources, get together and go over everything we have. I mean, Derek has a lot of books on and information on this stuff that we don't, and I bet together we could find something we would have missed on our own." Scott paused, obviously waiting for protests. "Am I wrong?"

Allison ground her teeth. "No," she admitted. "Look, I'm willing to work with his pack... but not him."

Scott nodded. "I get it," He said. "I'll call them, okay? See if Derek will let them borrow his books for a night."

"Woah, woah, wait a second here," Stiles said, standing up. They all looked at him. "If we're bringing over a bunch of werewolves for an all-night research party, then we are missing some  _crucial_ supplies,"

"What?" Allison asked.

Stiles folded his arms. "Snacks," He said. Everyone groaned. "You'll all thank me later, I promise." He said, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. "I'll be back in an hour."

* * *

They were back at Derek's loft when Isaac got the call.

"Hey Scott—"

Jackson looked up from his book and over to where Isaac was lying on the couch, a text book propped up on his chest. Having been doing research for hours, Jackson was desperate for some kind of distraction.

"Hey, are you doing anything now?" Jackson heard Scott say.

"Nah, just studying," Isaac said, closing the book. He sat up on the couch, and switched his phone to his other ear. "What's up?"

"I'm calling a meeting tonight, at Allison's place," Scott said. "We need to start working together, if we're going to figure this out,"

Isaac raised his eyebrows. "I thought we  _were_ working together,"

"Well, we need to do it better. So you and Erica, Boyd and Jackson—" Jackson sat up slightly upon hearing his name, "Are all going to come over, and we're not leaving until we've found something, okay?" Isaac nodded, and Jackson rolled his eyes. "Ask Derek for whatever books he has that he thinks might help. And he has his families bestiary, right? Maybe bring that too?"

Jackson looked over at Derek, sitting at the kitchen counter, and saw he was looking at Isaac (and likely listening to the conversation as well). Isaac raised his eyebrows at Derek, who glared back at him with a tight jaw. Then he nodded, reluctantly. Isaac grinned.

"Yeah, Derek says we can have his stuff,"

"Oh," Scott said, a note of surprise in his voice. "That's great. Tell the others and come over to Allison's as soon as you can, okay? I'll text you the address."

Isaac said goodbye and he and Scott hung up. He looked at Jackson. "Meeting tonight at Allison's, you're invited," He said.

"Yeah, I heard," Jackson said. As he turned to Derek, he thought he heard Isaac mutter the word  _rude_ under his breath. "Why can't you come?"

"Allison blames me for the death of her mother," Derek said. Jackson stared at him, waiting for an elaboration. None came.

"Why does she blame  _you?_ " Jackson pressed. He raised his eyebrows. " _Did_ you kill her mother?" Derek turned a page in the book he was reading, but said nothing. "She was a werewolf hunter, right? Was she trying to kill you, is that why? Come on, give me something,"

"Yeah, I'm pretty curious about what happened too," Isaac said, leaning forward. "Especially since it obviously drove Allison  _crazy,_ and she stabbed me with knives."

A sudden wave of dizziness came over Jackson, and his vision swam before his eyes. In his head he could see a dark warehouse, people scattered about—Gerard among them. He saw Allison behind Issac, saw her stab him with twin blades. He fell to the ground... the memory faded, and Jackson shook his head. Even now, it still unnerved him slightly, recovering another lost memory. How much was there he had yet to recover?

"Jackson?" Jackson looked up, at the sound of Derek's voice. "Are you alright?"

Jackson nodded. "Yeah, I just—" He looked at Isaac. "I remembered her stabbing you," He said.

Isaac raised his eyebrows. "What, just now?" Jackson nodded a second time. "Weird." He paused. "It looked painful, right?  _Really_ painful? 'Cause it was." He glanced at Derek.

"It did look pretty painful," Jackson agreed, turning to Derek as well.

Derek sighed, and glared at them both. "Fine, you want to know what happened? Allison's mother was trying to kill Scott, Scott called for help. I came to help him, her mother tried to kill me too, we fought, I bit her, she committed suicide." Derek looked back and forth between Isaac and Jackson's equally shocked expressions. "That's what happened. All Allison knows is that I bit her mother, and she killed herself because of it. I don't think Scott has seen fit to tell her the rest."

"Well that's not fair!" Jackson cried. "She can't hold that against you, her mom started it!"

"Yeah, I'm sure using a defence favoured by 10 year olds will definitely make her see reason," Isaac replied.

Jackson glared at him. "Why are you here?"

Isaac smiled. "I live here. Why are  _you_ here?"

"Jackson is here because I  _want_ him here," Derek snapped. "Don't ever question his presence, got it?" Isaac folded his arms over his chest. "Good."

Isaac rolled his eyes and went back to his text book, and Jackson smiled weakly. He couldn't explain it, but there was a sinking sensation in his gut. A terrible sense of hopeless overwhelming him, making him dizzy.

And for some strange, unknowable reason, somewhere deep in the back of his mind, Jackson was sure he could hear a girl laughing. And he did not know why, but he knew somehow that she was laughing at him.


	21. Scoobies, Part 1

* * *

"When people were in serious trouble they went to a witch.  
Sometimes, of course, to say, "please stop doing it."  
—Terry Pratchett,  _Carpe Jugulum_

* * *

Erica and Boyd met Jackson and Isaac at Jackson's car, and together they lugged up the books they had brought over from Derek's—including the new one's Derek and Jackson had bought downtown. Jackson didn't know what good books on 18th and 19th century witches would be if they were looking for a coven  _today,_ but Derek had insisted that buying them had been the right decision. They had also brought along the Hale family bestiary, on a small black flash drive.

"So," Erica asked, as they stood together in the elevator. "Anyone know where this whole buddy-buddy let's-all-work-together attitude suddenly came from?"

Jackson shook his head.

"It sounded like it was Scott's idea," Isaac volunteered. "He's into that whole 'getting along' thing."

Boyd snorted. They looked at him, and he raised an eyebrow. "Sure, he says he's into working together. But not enough to join our pack, or include us in his plans."

Erica nodded. "We're good enough to  _use,_ of course."

"Hey, Scott does his best, alright?" Isaac said. "Lay off of him."

The elevator  _dinged,_ signalling that they had reached Allison's floor. The doors slid open, and—speak of the devil—Scott McCall stood in front of them. "Hey," Scott greeted. Jackson wondered if he'd heard their conversation. If he had, he didn't let on.

"Scott, great to see you," Isaac said, dumping his books into Scott's arms. "Do you know what kind of snacks Allison has? I'm kind of starving."

Scott laughed, and shook his head. "I don't know why you and Stiles don't get along better," He said, leading the way to Allison's apartment.

Isaac looked thoughtful. "Hmm, interesting. Erica, do you know why Stilinksi and I don't get along better?" He asked, looking back at her.

Erica considered the question. "Maybe it's because he's a massive, gaping, stretchy asshole?"

Scott pursed his lips, while Isaac smirked and Boyd hid his laughter behind his hand. "Thanks for that imagery, Erica." Scott mumbled. "Super necessary."

Erica grinned.

Inside Allison's apartment, Allison and Stiles were waiting for them. Allison stood up to greet them when they entered, but Stiles seemed too busy with his bag of potato chips to care.

Lydia was there, too. Jackson's heart skipped a beat when he saw her. She looked tired.

"Holy crap that is a lot of books," Stiles noted, as they placed them all on the coffee table in Allison's living room. "Is that what Derek does with his time? Read? I guess that's less lame than what I always imagined." Scott raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I assumed he spent his days alternating between hours of sulking and brooding, with the occasional break for punching and threatening people."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson saw Erica and Boyd roll their eyes at each other. He was pretty sure Erica mouthed "here we go."

Jackson smiled to himself. A second later, he caught Lydia's eye, and dropped the smile from his face. Lydia gave him appraising look, and then walked over slowly. "Hello Jackson," She said stiffly.

"Lydia," He said. She looked up at him, and he wracked his brain for something to say. "How uh, how are you?"

Lydia smiled. "Awful, you?" She asked.

Jackson nodded. "Yeah, me too."

Lydia tilted her head to the side, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Alright everyone, we should get this meeting started, here," Stiles shouted, making Jackson jump. He turned and saw Stiles was staring right at him and Lydia, an envious glare on his face. Jackson glared back. Stiles turned to Allison, who was dragging a chair in from her kitchen. "Allison, don't you have things to say?"

Allison, looking a bit put on the spot, put the chair down. She cleared her throat, and hardened her expression. "Right," she said firmly. "Um, you can all sit down, if you want to," She said. She paused, while everyone took their seats on the two coaches and the few chairs that had already been placed there. Stiles pulled over the chair she had brought, and sat down on it backwards, next to where Lydia had seated herself.

Still glaring at Stiles, Jackson took a seat on the only empty chair, next to Erica.

"So, you already know that I've been having some pretty messed up dreams, for the past few months," Allison began. "Well, it turns out that one of the witches in the coven was trying to contact me—has contacted me, now."

"A witch contacted you?" Erica asked. "Why?"

"She says she wants to help—I don't know why," Allison said. "But she's been visiting me in my dreams, and I've been able to learn a little bit about her and her coven. The first thing being, these witches have been at our school. I don't know if anyone knows the three students that transferred to Beacon Hills High a few months back, but it's them. They've been there the whole time, and that's why it's only been students and teachers who're affected."

Everyone exchanged looks, obviously horrified.

"Who else?" Boyd asked. Everyone looked at him, and Boyd shifted slightly in his seat. "I mean, didn't Deaton say it would have to be a huge coven, to have this much power? So, it's the transfer students, and...?"

Allison bit her lip. "It's just them," She said.

"Nope," Isaac spoke up. "No way, I don't buy that." He said. "There is  _no way_ it's just three teenage girls doing all of this—messing with the weather, and getting in our heads like this, making us see—" Isaac broke off, and his jaw tightened. "It can't be."

"It is," Allison said. "But there's more." Jackson heard Erica sigh. "They're not just teenage girls. They're a coven of witches from around the 1800's... they did some kind of... spell," Allison said, hesitating over the word. "I don't know the specifics, but whatever they did turned them into something less than human."

"That's  _awesome,_ " Erica said dryly. Despite her tone, Jackson thought she looked a little freaked out. "Anything else? Like how we can  _kill_ them?"

Allison shook her head. "The only other thing she said was that we would all have to work together, to take down her coven,"

"And if anyone knows where we can find some druids or a harbinger," Scott added, "Feel free to let us know, because we're supposed to work with them too."

"What the hell is a harbinger?" Isaac asked, looking vaguely disturbed. Scott shrugged.

"A druid like Deaton?" Jackson asked. Everyone turned to stare at him, and Jackson sat back in his chair. "I mean, he's a druid, right? It probably meant him."

"Deaton is a druid?" Scott asked, his eyebrows knitting together. "How do you know that?"

"He told me,"

"He never tells me anything!"

"Well, I mean I kind of asked..."

Scott made a noise of frustration, and hung his head for a moment. Then he dug his cellphone of his pocket, and hit a few buttons. He put the phone on speaker, and Jackson heard it ringing. "Scott?" Deaton said. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, it's fine—are you a druid?" Scott asked.

There was silence for a moment. "Yes."

"Great," Scott ran his fingers through his hair. "We need your help."

* * *

Jackson, Boyd and Erica were spread out on Allison's floor, wearing identical expressions of concentration and slight annoyance. Jackson had been reading "Demon, Deities and Bringers of Darkness" for over a half an hour now, and he was still only partway through the "Demons" section of the book.

Erica and Boyd kept switching their books back and forth between them, probably in attempt to not grow horribly numb with boredom. Jackson wondered if it was working.

Lydia was taking her time choosing a book, and had spent the last half an hour with every book they'd brought spread out on the floor in front of her, her hand roaming over the covers, pausing occasionally to hover over a certain volume before moving on again. Stiles too had not touched a book, and was instead staring intently at Lydia. Every now and then he would poke her shoulder, and ask her what the hell she was doing.

Allison was lying upside down on the couch, reading "Witches of the 19th Century," which Jackson realized had now become relevant to what they were looking for. When Stiles began to bug Lydia for the 16th time, Allison smacked him upside the head without taking her eyes off her book, and told him to leave her alone.

Just as Lydia finally settled on "Witches of the 18th Century," and selected it from the group, the door to the apartment sprung open, and a rain-soaked Isaac and Scott came splashing back inside. Lydia looked up for the first time in 30 minutes, and took in their dishevelled appearance. "When did it start raining?" She asked, standing up with her book under one arm.

"Like 20 minutes ago, Lydia," Stiles said, just as another clap of thunder sounded around them. Stiles stared at Lydia, his mouth open slightly in a look of disbelief mingled with awe. "Seriously, where have you  _been_ for the last half hour?"

Lydia shrugged, and sat down on the couch next to Allison. "I was concentrating," She said simply. Stiles made a loud noise of frustration, and fell back on the floor.

"Did you get it?" Allison asked Scott. She was now sitting right side up on the couch.

Scott nodded. "Yeah, I got it," He said, pulling something in a plastic bag out from his wet jacket. Scott removed the bag, and Jackson saw it was a silver hard drive.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, and crowded around Scott as he plugged the hard drive into Allison's computer. "His bestiary needs a whole terabyte?" Allison enquired, examining the drive.

"It's not just a bestiary," Scott explained. "Deaton says it's a whole database, updated by people like him all over the world."

"'People like him?'" Boyd questioned.

"He says they call themselves emissaries. They're like advisers to wolf packs. Deaton says they've been compiling this information for centuries. There  _has_ to be something here."

Erica raised her eyebrows. "If they've been gathering this information for centuries, do you realize how long it's going to take  _us_ to go through it all?" She glanced around. "Centuries."

"Not if we know what we're looking for," Scott objected. "We can just run a search..."

"We could, if we did," Erica replied. "But we don't."

Scott looked towards Allison. "Don't we?"

Allison hesitated. "Uh, specifically?" Scott nodded. "Then no."

Scott groaned loudly. "Oh man, Erica's right, this'll take forever." Erica smiled, obviously pleased with herself. "Stiles," He said, lifting his head back up. "Show me those snacks you got."

Scott and Stiles disappeared into Allison's kitchen in search of food, while Isaac took off his coat, grabbed a random book from the pile Lydia had made and plunked himself down on the floor beside Boyd. "Anyone find anything while I was gone?" He asked.

"Oh yeah," Boyd replied, not looking up from his book. "We cracked the whole thing wide open."

Isaac nodded, and flipped open his book. "Well that's good."

When Scott and Stiles emerged from the kitchen, their arms were full of junk food; bags of chip, a box of powered donuts, red vines, cookies and Jackson didn't know what else. "Alright, who wants what?" Scott asked, passing the food around. "We have... uh, everything."

"You're welcome," Stiles said, handing Allison a tube of ranch flavoured Pringles. Allison smiled while rolling her eyes.

Erica called for the red vines, and caught them one handed when Scott tossed them over. Isaac grabbed a bag of barbeque flavoured chips from Stiles' arms, causing him to drop a box of Maltesers, which Lydia caught, before settling back on the couch with her book.

Everything was quiet after that. They each had their respective research methods and snacks, and they were ready to get to work. Jackson went back to "Demon, Deities and Bringers of Darkness," occasionally taking red vines from Erica when she offered them. Allison resumed her upside-down reading on the couch, now with Lydia curled up next to her. Scott and Stiles sat across from each other on laptops, Scott going through Derek's bestiary and Stiles browsing Deaton's database.

For an hour, the only sounds were the clicking of keyboards and the turning of pages, punctuated by the sounds of munching and chewing, the occasional rustling of a bag as someone reached for more chips.

"Hey, how about this," Stiles spoke up, punctuating the silence. Jackson glanced up, and so did Allison and Scott; everyone else continued reading. "It's a demon, called the... Nekgeneis. It torments its victims with visions of their dead relatives, making them go insane."

Isaac looked up, and so did Boyd and Erica. Lydia remained absorbed in her book.

Stiles looked around at them, waiting for a response. "Has anyone... anyone seen that? Dead relatives, I mean?"

"Have you?" Scott asked softly. Stiles ducked his dead, and nodded. "Why didn't you tell me that?" Stiles shrugged. "What happened?"

"Ah, not much," Stiles said. "Just my Mom, telling me I killed her by being a massive burden, you know that sort of thing. No big." Stiles forced a grin that went no where near his eyes.

Scott reached out a hand and put it over Stiles, gave him a small squeeze. Then he turned to the group. "Has anyone else experienced anything like that?"

Isaac nodded. "Uh... yeah, kind of. I mean, yes. I saw my Dad..." He trailed off, and shrugged. "He mostly just picked up where we left off."

"I saw my sister," Boyd said, his mouth set in a firm line. "She... she blamed me, said it was my fault she..." He shook his head, and Erica put her arm over his shoulder. Jackson stared at him. He hadn't even known that Boyd had a sister, let alone one who died.

They were all silent again, for a few minutes. "But we know it's witches, not a demon," Allison said. "So it can't be that, right?" She looked around at them.

"Maybe the... Neck-thing can appear as whatever it wants," Scott volunteered. He glanced at Stiles, but Stiles seemed once again engrossed in the database. "Has  _everyone_ seen a dead relative?"

Jackson shook his head. "No, no relatives."

"Me neither," Erica said. "Lots of other fun stuff though."

Allison raised her eyebrows. "Like what?"

"None of your business," Erica sneered.

Allison gave her a look. "If we want to find some solid information on who's doing this, we need to know what  _exactly_ they've been doing. What everyone's been experiencing or seeing." She turned to Jackson. "Who did you see, Jackson?"

"What?"

"You said you haven't seen any relatives," Allison said. "But you've seen  _someone._ Who?"

Jackson ground his teeth. It took a lot of restraint not to repeat Erica's line. "I saw... Matt," he admitted, through a clenched jaw. "He... he told me I would become a kanima again." Not a lie, not really. Just certain truths left out.

"We won't let that happen," Scott said. Jackson sneered, refusing his pity. Scott rolled his eyes.

Jackson looked at Erica, who had her arms crossed over her chest. Boyd gave her a small nudge, and she glared at him. He raised his eyebrows, and she sighed. "Fine, alright. I've been having seizures again. Everyone happy? That's what's been happening to me." With that, she picked up her book, and shoved her nose back into it, refusing to say any more.

"So, doing a bit more reading," Stiles spoke up. "It turns out that this demon does its thing by excreting parasites that bite its victims, injecting them with a venom that causes the hallucinations. The victims are left with big red bites on their wrists or neck... also there's a picture—" Stiles turned the computer around for them to see. The drawing was of a huge monster that looked like it was made up of melted crayons, with big holes in it's body filled with skittering parasites. "So he's probably not our guy."

"Duh," Lydia mumbled, turning a page in her book.

Everyone sighed, and went back to what they were doing.

* * *

Allison's entire brain had gone numb. And her left arm, a little bit. She sat up and stretched, then determinedly turned yet another thick yellow page of "19th Century Witchcraft." She was halfway through the volume, and had been ready to quit approximately 200 pages ago.

It was close to midnight now, and she was beginning to wonder if they were really going through with this whole "no one leaves until we find something" shtick. It had seemed like a good idea at the time... less so, now.

The words on the page blurred in front of her, and Allison began to fantasize about her father coming back early from his business trip—he was supposed to be gone for the entire weekend—and kicking everyone out of the apartment. Then she could get some sleep...

Allison jumped half a mile in the air, sending her book toppling to the floor, as Lydia gave her arm a forceful shove.

"Oh god Allison, I'm sorry!" Lydia said, reaching over to pick her book off the floor. "I was just trying to get your attention."

Allison sighed, waiting for the pounding in her chest to slow. "It's fine, Lydia. What's up?"

Lydia's eyes gleamed, and she sat up on her knees. "I got her. I  _found her._ Look!" She turned her own book towards Allison, and pointed to a charcoal portrait at the bottom of one page. The drawing was of a young, familiar looking girl, with long dark hair and round eyes. The caption read "Charlotte Hasting, 1706."

Allison's mouth fell open.

"It's her," Lydia said excitedly. "The younger sister, the dead one."

" _What?"_

Allison and Lydia looked up, to find everyone in the room staring at them. It was Erica who had spoken, and she was looking back and forth between the two of them as if they'd lost their minds.

Lydia seemed unconcerned. "The coven sacrificed their youngest sister in their crazy let's-be-all-powerful-uber-witches ritual," She explained. "I saw her when I found Luis Kennedy.  _This is her!_ "

" _You_ found Luis Kennedy? _"_ Asked Boyd.

"You saw a dead chick?" Stiles questioned.

Ignoring them both, Allison grabbed the book from Lydia, and began to read the article accompanying the picture. "Fifteen year old Charlotte Hastings (1691-1706, pictured)," Allison read aloud, "Is believed to the first victim of Nan, Abigail and Isbel Hastings, her sisters. Charlotte was found dead in the woods in September 1706, and shortly thereafter the elder Hastings sisters were tried and found guilty of practicing witchcraft and satanic rituals which included the mutilation of their own bodies and the murder of their youngest sister."

"The Hastings sisters were never punished for their crimes, as every participant in their trial was either murdered or committed suicide. Shortly after these events, the town in which they resided burned to the ground. They are believed to have died in the fire, but their fates are unconfirmed."

Allison looked up, speechless. This was  _them._ They had names, lives... They had found them, at last.

"Well," Stiles said, teetering back in his chair. "I guess we can confirm that they  _didn't_ die in that fire."

Jackson snorted. "Died in it? They probably  _set_ the damn fire."

"They probably made  _someone else_ set the fire," Boyd added.

Erica nodded. "And laughed while everything around them burned."

"Stiles," Lydia interrupted. Stiles' head snapped up, and he set the chair back on all four legs. "Do a search for the Hastings sisters, see if there's anything in the database. Scott, do the same thing with the bestiary. Everyone else, start checking indexes."

Stiles saluted, and began typing away on his computer. Lydia retrieved a book out of her purse, a small red book with gold writing on the front, and began to flip through that. Everyone else went back to their books with renewed vigour, aside from Erica and Isaac who did not seem to find this new information as exciting as her and Lydia. Considering what they'd told them they'd been going through, Allison didn't exactly blame them. But still, small as it was, this information felt like everything.

They were getting close, she could feel it.


	22. Scoobies, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Suicidal Thoughts

* * *

"Let go of the little distractions,  
Hold close to the ones that you love.  
Cause we won't all be here this time next year,  
So while you can, take a picture of us."  
—Frank Turner,  _Polaroid Picture_

* * *

At a quarter past one, Lydia dragged Allison into her bedroom, insisting she had to show her something.

"Alright, what is it?" Allison yawned. Her excitement from discovering the information about the Hastings sisters had worn off a half an hour ago, and now all she felt was dead-tired, and a little nauseous from all the junk food she'd eaten. The search Stiles had run on the database was taking forever, and no one else had found anything in their respective sources.

Lydia had with her the little red book she'd been reading for the last hour, and she opened it up and shoved it in Allison's face. When Allison's eyes adjusted, she saw the words "Animus En Communico" at the top of the page, in large swirling letters. She blinked.

"It means 'here I share my mind,'" Lydia explained. "It's what Charlotte was trying to tell me." She tapped the page.

Allison furrowed her brow. "I thought the dagger told you that..."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "It was Charlotte talking to me  _through_ the dagger. Inanimate objects can't actually speak, Allison."

"Oh," Allison said. "Okay."

"I bought this book when I went shopping downtown the other day," Lydia continued. "I wasn't even sure how I wound up at that bookstore, but I went inside I bought this book. It's a spell book."

"A spell book..."

"It contains all sorts of rituals and incantations for controlling people's minds, dream walking, seeing people's innermost desires, and  _this—_ " Lydia tapped the open page with her finger. "The mind share. It's a ritual for creating a shared mind space between different people."

Allison stared at her and Lydia stared back expectantly, as though this should mean something important to her. "Lydia I'm sorry, but it's like one in the morning. You're going to have to explain this a little more."

Lydia gave a frustrated sigh. She turned the book back around, and began to read. "'The shared mind space is a powerful tool, typically used for communication. Practitioners of the ritual can use the space to commune with the dead or the lost, by bringing them  _into_ the shared space, via a belonging or symbolic item.'" Lydia looked up, and Allison got it.

_...We would be safe in your head..._

"We can talk to them," Allison said slowly. "We can get some real answers."

Lydia nodded. "We can use the dagger, and that coin thing, and we can bring the freaky eyeless witch into our minds, and she can finally tell us what the deal with her and her sisters is, and how we take them down." Lydia closed the book, and raised one eyebrow. "She says she wants to help, now she can put her money where her mouth is."

A wrapping on the bedroom door drew their attention, and they turned to find Scott poking his head through. "Hey, sorry to interrupt," He said. "But Stiles got a hit on the search."

* * *

After hours of leafing through boring and dusty old volumes, everyone was on edge as they gathered around Stiles and the computer, to finally learn some real information about their tormentors, the Hastings sisters.

"There are some pictures... sketches," Stiles said. Jackson could see his reflection in the computer screen. His mouth was set in a grim line. "Small warning, this is not a PG-13 image." Stiles moved the mouse down to the task-bar, and drew up a minimized file.

"Dude, gross," Isaac commented. Jackson silently agreed.

The sketch was of three girls standing before a fire, each of them grossly mutilated. One girl had her eyes gouged out, another had bloody lips stitched crudely together, and the third was drawn with bleeding stumps for arms. A forth girl lay dead at their feet, a bloody hole in her chest. Her heart had been ripped out, and was visible in the hand of the girl with the sewn lips. In her other hand, she grasped a bloody dagger with a black hilt.

Jackson had heard about this from Allison, they all had... but seeing it in front of him like this was worse. A lot worse.

"This is a sketch by some emissary named Andrew Manon," Stiles said. "It's showing the ritual they did, that made them into... whatever they are now. Here—" Stiles pulled up another document, and read: "'My research has led me to believe that on the night of the autumnal equinox, the sisters Nan, Abigail and Isbel performed a ritual, in which they each made sacrifices of their own bodies; Nan removed her tongue and her lips were sewn together; Abigail had her arms severed at the elbows; Isbel's eyes were gouged from her face. The ritual was completed with the final sacrifice of their sister Charlotte, and the burning of her heart. I believe this ritual allowed the girls to ascend from their mortal forms and become something much darker.'"

Jackson's felt queasy. "They  _ascended from their mortal forms?_ " He repeated. "What the hell does that mean."

"That we're completely screwed," Erica replied.

Scott glared at her. "No, we are not screwed," He said. "There has to be a way to get rid of them. Everyone—every _thing_ has a weakness. Stiles, keep reading."

Stiles sighed and rubbed his eyes. "'After the destruction of their home town in 1706, little is known of the Hastings sisters activities. Some believe them to have perished in the fire that took their town, but I believe otherwise. I have collected the testimonies of those whom I believe to have encountered the Hastings sisters—'" Stiles paused, and rubbed his eyes again. "Then there's a hyperlink to the testimonies..."

"Skip to the end," Lydia urged giving Stiles' shoulder a nudge. "How do we  _beat_ them?"

"Uh... let's see," Stiles mumbled, scrolling through the document. "'...travelling the earth, causing chaos, death and destruction wherever they go... blah blah blah... no apparent motive, reason or pattern to their actions... chaos for chaos sake, yadda yadda...' oh here we go," Stiles said. "'Through out their long life span, many have attempted to kill, contain or in some way impede the sisters, with no successful results. All that I am able to conclude, even with my vast amount of research and knowledge of the subject matter, is that the Hastings sisters have... no apparent weaknesses.'" Stiles paused again, staring blankly at the computer screen.

Jackson thought he heard a ringing in his ears. He felt numb. _No apparent weaknesses._  After a moment of stunned silence, Stiles continued in an emotionless voice. "'My advice to any who encounter the sisters, is to treat them as you would a destructive force of nature, and remove yourself from the path.'"

Erica was shaking her head, as if she refused to believe that this was the final word on the subject. "No, there has to be something we can do," She said, her voice higher than usual. "There has to be something." She looked at Scott, but he was looking at the computer screen with a deep frown.

Stiles dropped his head against the keyboard. Isaac began to pace around the room. Boyd put his arm over Erica's shoulder, trying to comfort her. She shoved him off.

Allison and Lydia were whispering to each other, but Jackson felt too sick to listen in. This was it then, it was all over. There was nothing they could do. All of that research, for nothing.  _No apparent weaknesses._

"We'll figure something out," Scott said. His words lacked their usual conviction. "We'll go through the testimonies, we'll keep looking. There's something out there,  _something,_ and we'll find it."

Jackson sat down on the couch, unsure his knees would continue to support him.

_You knew it would be this way,_ the voice in his head whispered. For once it didn't sound like Matt. It didn't sound like anyone he knew.  _You know what you have to do now. It's the only way. We cannot be stopped. Your curse cannot be stopped. You will turn, you will kill._

Jackson squeezed his eyes shut, begging the voice to stop, to shut up to leave him alone.

Laughter rang in his head.  _You know what you have to do,_ the voice continued.  _You know, you've always known. Or do you want Derek to have to do it for you? What will that do to him, Jackson? How could_ you  _do that to him?_

Jackson shook his head. No, he couldn't do that to Derek. It would kill him.

"It's snowing,"

Jackson lifted his head up, and saw Erica at the window. White flurries swirled by the window, as Erica stared out in disbelief. "It's fucking snowing," She repeated.

Isaac turned on the television, and flipped to the local news. Jackson noticed that Scott, Stiles, Allison and Lydia had disappeared from the room. He didn't really care where they'd gone.

The reporter on television was standing outside, bundled up from head to toe. A blizzard had begun to build overnight, and the reporter was unsure how long it would last, or where the hell it had come from. The meteorologists were baffled by the occurrence. No one knew what was going on.

Jackson had a pretty good idea.

And the voice in his head was right. He did know what he had to do. In a way, he thought he had always known.

It was the only way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short companion fic to this story will be posted on Wednesday. I promise it's cheerier than the actual story, right now.


	23. Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: non-con elements, Suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt.
> 
> I would at this time like to draw everyone's attention to the fact that there is no major character death in this fic. I repeat, no major character death.

* * *

"Scold me, hold me,  
I'll be yours to keep.  
The only thing I beg of you;  
Don't make me go to sleep."  
—Jessica Lowndes,  _In All My Dreams I Drown_

* * *

It was close to three in the morning, when Jackson and Isaac arrived back at Derek's loft. Allison had insisted it would be perfectly fine for everyone to crash at her place, especially considering the storm, but Jackson, Erica, Isaac and Boyd had wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. They'd stayed up all night, consumed more sugar than was safe, and discovered that their enemies were essentially indestructible. They all wanted to go home. All but Jackson, that is. His only thought was of Derek.

Jackson dropped Erica and Boyd off at their respective houses, and then he and Isaac travelled in silence back to the loft. Too exhausted to carry them, they left the books in the car, and traipsed through the snow to the building. Isaac went to Derek's loft, and Jackson went down the hall, using the key Derek kept on the top of the door frame to let himself in.

He pulled off his shoes and jacket, and crashed on the bed. He lay there for a few minutes in silence, not thinking or feeling anything. A sort of numbness had taken hold of him, a physical numbness he felt deep in his bones.

When Jackson rolled over, he found Matt lying next to him. Somehow, not even this could shock him now. He was to exhausted, too tired of everything. The voices, the scales climbing up his torso, the ever growing sense of hopelessness, these visits from Matt. The whole thing was too much. It was as if he could no longer process it.

Matt was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow. He smiled down at Jackson.

"Go away," Jackson said. "I can't deal with you right now."

Matt gave him a sympathetic look. "I know how tired you are, Jackson," He said, reaching down to stroke the side of Jackson's face. Jackson cringed away from him, but was too tired to truly resist. "But it will all be over soon, won't it? And then we'll be together again."

Jackson groaned, and tuned his face away from Matt. Maybe if he just ignored him, pretended he wasn't there...

Matt's fingers found Jackson's chin, and he turned his face back towards him. Matt leaned in close, so close that Jackson could smell his gum-fresh breath. Spearmint, Matt's favourite. "Just once, tell me you miss me, Jackson." Matt whispered. "Tell me you wish I was still with you. Wasn't it easier, back then? Having someone to think for you, act for you?" Matt raised an eyebrow. "Don't you wish I could take over for you now, and finish it for you?"

Jackson swallowed, and said nothing. It  _would_  be easier, with Matt in his head, removing his own thoughts and choices. Taking away the doubt and regret. Doing it all for him.

"Go away," Jackson whispered. "Leave me alone, please..."

A shiver ran down his spine, and Jackson turned his head, and saw Derek standing in the door frame. "Sorry," Derek said, "I'll go..."

"No!" With difficulty, Jackson lifted himself up into a sitting position. He blinked a few times, trying to wake himself up. "No, I wasn't talking to you..."

"Then who were you talking to?" Derek asked, closing the door behind him. He walked over towards Jackson, and sat down on the edge of the bed. "There's no one else here..."

Jackson shrugged. "No one, just myself. I'm just sick of myself, that's it."

Derek put a hand against his face, and Jackson leaned against it, grateful for his touch. "Well, I missed you tonight," He said. He kissed Jackson, softly, and pressed their foreheads together.

Jackson breathed in his scent, and sighed. "I missed you too," He murmured.

They kissed again, and Derek smiled. "I thought I'd stay with you, while you slept. If you wanted..."

Jackson nodded. "I want you," He said. "But I don't want to sleep just yet."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding right? You're exhausted, Jackson. You need to sleep."

Jackson shook his head. He leaned in and pressed his mouth against Derek's, hard. "No, no sleep..." He mumbled. It was true he was exhausted, but he would not rest yet. Not until he'd been with Derek. "Please, Derek. I need you, please." He kissed his neck, and his ear, then pressed their mouths together again. "Please..."

Slowly, he felt Derek give in. "Okay," Derek said, kissing him back. "Just once, and then sleep." Jackson nodded, and Derek reached down and pulled his shirt up over his head. Derek's hands drifted over his torso, and Jackson wondered if he could see them, see the scales. "Hard or soft?"

Wrapping his arms over Derek's neck, Jackson brushed his lips over Derek's and whispered " _Soft._ "

Jackson could feel Derek's surprise, but he said nothing. He simply pulled his own shirt over his head, and took Jackson in his arms.

There was no bit of Jackson Derek did not give attention to. He kissed his neck and moved slowly down his torso, kissing, licking, never biting at his skin, fingers roaming over his scaled side with no hesitation, no disgust.

Down on his knees, Derek removed the rest of Jackson's clothing. He pressed his mouth to the inside of Jackson's knees and worked his way up, sucking purple bruises along his thighs while his fingers worked at Jackson's cock. Jackson could not help the noises he made, noises of want and of need.

Jackson was dizzy by the time Derek was finally inside of him, dizzy with his exhaustion but more so with his hunger for Derek. He wanted to freeze this moment in time, and keep it this way forever.

Lying on his back, Jackson wrapped his legs around Derek's hips as he thrust into him in slow, long strokes that left Jackson gasping. There was a heat in his chest as they moved together, and as it moved up to his throat Jackson thought he might cry. It burned out the numbness, overwhelming him with the unwanted ripeness of  _feeling._  Everything he felt for Derek, the loss of what he would never feel again...

He had to been so afraid of this, this intimacy, this closeness. So afraid and so stupid. He knew now, knew he would have always been safe with Derek, safe like this. Derek never would have hurt him, the way he had been hurt in the past. Never.

"Derek," Jackson gasped, running his fingers through Derek's hair. Derek kissed his neck in response, licked at the lobe of Jackson's ear and made him cry out again. "Derek, I want you to say it,"

Derek pulled back, and looked Jackson in the eye. His brow was furrowed, and he was breathless. "Say... say what?" He pushed forward again, and Jackson bit down on his lip, suppressing another moan.

Shaking his head, Jackson reached up and kissed Derek, mumbling against his mouth. "Please, I want to hear you say it,"

When Jackson sank back down against the pillow, and he saw his brow unfurl in understanding. Still looking into his eyes, Derek brushed his hand along the side of Jackson's face, tracing his fingers along his jaw. "I love you, Jackson," Derek whispered. "You know I do."

Jackson nodded, and when Derek leaned down to kiss him, he let himself topple over the edge. The orgasm came upon him slowly, washing over him and pulling him down with it. Through the overwhelming dizziness, he could feel Derek press his face into his neck as he came as well, whispering Jackson's name. It was a good feeling. The last good thing he would feel for a while.

By the time Derek had cleaned them both up and slipped back into bed with him, wrapping his arms around Jackson and pulling him close, Jackson was fast asleep.

* * *

Jackson left early the next morning, slipping out of Derek's arms and mumbling about exam review day at school. Derek nodded and went back to sleep, and Jackson dressed and quietly left the loft.

The falling snow had turned the town white overnight, and as Jackson drove slowly through the icy streets, he thought that this must be what a blizzard looked like. There was white everywhere, snow coming from every angle. All the better for him, he supposed.

He drove for a while, until he reached the forest. Then he turned his car to the side of the road and killed the ignition. He took out his cellphone and dialled his home number, before he remembered they had probably left for work already.

To his surprise, his mother answered on the first ring. "Jackson? Are you alright? Where are you?"

"I'm heading to school, Mom," Jackson lied. "I'm fine. I just wanted to talk to you. Is Dad there?" He knew he was, he could hear him in the background, asking if it was Jackson on the phone.

"Yes, we're both here Jackson, what's wrong?" His father asked. His mother must have put the phone on speaker.

Jackson smiled sadly to himself. Of course they knew something was wrong. "Nothing, nothing's wrong. I just wanted to call and say... that I'm sorry. Sorry for the way I've been lately, and... and just everything."

"It's okay, Jackson, it's alright," His mother sounded strangely afraid. "Just... just come home okay? Your father and I are taking the day off, so just come home, and we can spend the day together..."

"I can't, Mom," Jackson said, feeling a little bit like crying. "I have school."

"Forget about school, Jackson, we've hardly seen you at all for the last month." His father said. He sounded worried, like his mother, but in an angrier way. "Come home, right now. We'll talk."

"I'm sorry, I have to go..."

"Jackson, wait—"

Jackson hung up the phone, then turned it off and tossed it away from him. He put his head in his hands, and forced himself to get a grip.

_You know what you have to do,_  the voice whispered.  _Go do it._

Jackson nodded. Then he stepped out of the car, and walked towards the forest.

* * *

Lydia was just leaving second period when she felt her phone begin to buzz in her purse. She reached in and pulled it out, expecting to see Allison's name on the caller ID. She froze, when she the ID read  _Jackson._ Why was Jackson calling her? Did he want to get back together? They  _did_  almost have a moment, the other night, at Allison's... Lydia frowned, angry with herself for entertaining the thought. She was  _not_ just some floozy to be tossed away and picked up again at Jackson's convenience. She was better than that, and she deservedbetter than that.

She answered the phone with the intention of telling him so. " _Hello?_ " She said, keeping her voice cool. Instead of a reply, all she heard was static, and the harsh sounds of wind. "Jackson? Hello?"

Then the whimpering started. Quiet, and then louder, a desperate, wet noise. Scared. "Jackson's, what's wrong? What's happening?" Lydia's heart beat quickened in her chest. Was he hurt? Obviously he was hurt—  _"Jackson where are you?_ "

" _Please,"_ Came the quiet, weeping response. Lydia's voice stuck in her throat. She had never heard Jackson sound so broken.  _"Please let me die... please..."_

" _Please, I need to die... let me die..."_

Horrified, Lydia put her hand over her mouth, and fought back against the urge to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The companion fic, titled "Closer" has now been posted.


	24. Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Suicide attempt, discussion of suicide

* * *

"He did not love me living; but once dead  
He pitied me; and very sweet it is  
To know he still is warm though I am cold."  
—Christina Rossetti,  _After Death_

* * *

Exam review day was even worse than Allison had anticipated. And it definitely was not helped by the fact that she'd only gotten less than four hours of sleep the night before. She was stressed out about the Hastings sisters—although it felt good to have a  _name_ and faces to put to them, for the first time—and about the spell that she, Lydia and Stiles were going to attempt on the following day. Scott had protested being excluded, but Allison knew that the eyeless witch (Isbel, Allison reminded herself. Her name was Isbel) seemed to have certain prejudices against werewolves, and she didn't want to do anything that would turn her against helping them. Scott would be with them, to keep and eye on them while they were under the influence of the spell, but he would not participate.

First period passed at an agonizingly slow rate—Coach Finstock lectured them about their overall poor marks for half an hour before actually giving them their exams back. Somehow, she had managed to score a B+ on the exam, which would help to bump up her overall mark in the class to at  _least_ a C-.

Second period English was decidedly worse. As she'd suspected, Allison had failed the exam. Which, due to her already dismal mark in the class, meant she would be retaking it in summer school. Perfect.

Just as she was considering approaching Ms. Stevens and begging for some last minute extra credit assignment to boost her mark, a horrible pain began to stab at her eyes. Everything went white, and Allison cried out in pain.

"Allison?" Ms. Stevens asked, concerned.

Allison shook her still throbbing head, and stood up. She recognized this pain, and knew what it meant—a vision, from Isbel. She needed to get out the classroom and fast, before it hit. "I don't feel very good," She said, grabbing her stuff and heading for the classroom door. "I'm sorry, I have to go—"

Allison walked a few steps into the hallway before another stabbing pain seized her and she fell over, sprawling out in front of the class room next door. Students stared at her and whispered amongst themselves as Allison grabbed at her things and mumbled apologizes, then shot off to the bathroom as quickly as she could.

She just stepped through the door when her vision went white again, and her eyes burned in agony. She couldn't see anything, it was all white—the vision focused, and through the white she saw trees whipping in the wind. Snow, there was snow everywhere... and then she saw him. Jackson, lying on the forest floor, blue and shivering. He was huddled up in a ball, covered in snow, shaking violently, whispering something she couldn't hear over the screaming wind. Allison tried to call out to him, tried to reach—

The vision ended, and Allison came back to herself slowly. Someone was shouting her name, over and over... Allison shook her head, and she realized she was on the bathroom floor. She must have fallen over, but she couldn't remember it.

"Allison? Allison are you okay?" Allison blinked, and stared at Erica, who was shaking her and staring at her with a look of vague worry.

Slowly, Allison nodded. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine..." Erica let go of her, and Allison sat up straight. "Jackson isn't."

"What?"

"Jackson, I saw him..." Allison explained, standing up on shaky legs. Erica followed her lead, still staring at her as if she'd recently grown a second head. "He's in trouble, I have to find him..."

"'We,'" Erica corrected. "He's part of my pack, remember?" Allison opened her mouth to protest, but Erica didn't give her the opportunity. "And  _how_  do you know he's in trouble, anyways? What kind of trouble? Witches?"

"I had a—look, it's a long story. And I don't know if it's the witches... but he's out in the blizzard..." Allison ran her fingers through her hair, and then looked at Erica. "What are you doing in here?"

"You collapsed outside our classroom," Erica said. "We came after you, just to make sure you weren't going to die. Since our packs are making nice now."

"I don't  _have_ a pack," Allison said, heading to the bathroom door. When she opened it, she found Boyd standing there. She supposed he was the "we" Erica had been referring to.

"Right, sure," Erica said, following her out of the bathroom. "What would you call you, Scott, Stiles and Lydia then?"

Allison didn't have an answer for her. "If we're going to find Jackson, we have to go now," She said instead. "Grab your coats, meet me at my car as fast as you can."

"Where  _is_ he?" Boyd asked. "In the blizzard, where?"

"Somewhere in the forest, it looked like..."

Boyd raised his eyebrows. "'It looked like...'" He repeated. "You  _saw_ him?"

"I don't have time—yes, I saw him. I had a vision—" She held up her hand, as both Erica and Boyd opened their mouths. "I'll explain on the way."

Allison sped down the road as quickly as the weather would allow, tapping her hand against the wheel in frustration every time they had got stuck in traffic or had to drive slowly due to ice on the road. "Come on, come  _on,_ "

"He'll be okay," Erica said, staring out the window. "I mean, he's already died twice, right? He's tougher than he seems." Her tone was light, but Allison could tell she was trying to reassure herself just as much as she was Allison. It was odd to realize, but Erica and Boyd actually seemed to care quite a lot about Jackson. She supposed that came with being a pack... they just cared about each other.

"Allison," Boyd said, leaning in from the back seat. "How are we going to  _find_ Jackson?" He asked. "I don't know if you know this, but the woods are a very large place. And in a blizzard like this..."

"I can find him," Allison said firmly, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. "I don't know how, but I know I can..."

"Right," Erica said, "Because you had a vision." Erica glanced at her, and raised her eyebrows. "You said you'd explain?"

Allison sighed. "Isbel sends me visions, sometimes. Well, this is the second time... it's painful, I don't think she likes to communicate that way."

"Isbel... is the witch who gouged out her own eyes, right?" Boyd asked. Allison nodded. "I suppose that makes sense."

Erica turned to look at him. "How so?"

"Well, if she sacrificed her eyes, it makes sense that her powers revolve around that sense. She's probably the one that can make us see things. Like our dead relatives..."

Erica snorted humourlessly. "Yeah? So which one is the bitch giving me seizures?"

Boyd considered it for a moment. "Abigail Hastings is the one who chopped off her arms, right? My money would be on her. Tactile."

Erica turned back around, grinding her teeth. "We figure out how to kill them, and that one is mine, got it?"

Allison nodded. " _If_  we figure out how to kill them, and she is all yours."

Allison felt a buzzing in her pocket, and when they stopped at the next red light, she grabbed her phone out and answered it. "Lydia?"

"Allison, it's Jackson, he's in trouble—"

"I know, Lydia, we're on our way—"

"No, you don't understand! I  _heard_ him Allison..." Lydia broke off. "I think he's dying," She whispered. "I have this—this feeling—"

"Lydia, it will be okay," Allison said. "I know where he is, we'll get to him in time. I know we will," She said, although she had no way to know that.

She could hear Lydia's breathing, fast and loud. "Don't let him die, Allison," Lydia begged. "Not again."

"I promise, Lydia," Allison said. "I promise I'll save him, I will."

She and Lydia hung up, and she stuffed her phone back into her pocket. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Erica staring at her. "What?"

"You lied," Erica said plainly.

Allison gritted her teeth, and stared out the windshield at the white road. "I know." She said.

After what felt like far too long, they arrived at the edge of the forest. They got out of the car, and Erica made towards the trees, but Boyd grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "We need to follow her," He said, nodding to Allison. He looked at her. "You said you can find him?"

Allison nodded, feeling a little sick. "I think so," She said. "I have uh... I don't know, a feeling. In my gut. And a headache." Generally a headache and nausea was sign of Isbel's magic, and she was hoping that's what it was now. Isbel sending her a message, leading her to Jackson.

Erica and Boyd didn't seem to question this. Wordlessly, they took off towards the woods, following Allison between the trees as she attempted to follow the pulling in her gut. Sometimes she would turn one way, and a feeling like being punched in the stomach would come over her. She took that as a sign that that was the  _wrong_ way.

Allison could tell it was difficult for Erica and Boyd to follow her like this. For one thing, they had to move considerably slower than they would be able to, if left to go on their own. Even in the snow, they would be faster without her. Faster, but with no idea of where to look. Boyd was right, of course; the woods were vast, and without Allison, finding Jackson would be nearly impossible.

The more they travelled, the better Allison felt. Her headache went away, the sickness in her stomach slowly eased... they were getting close. That had to be what it meant.

But even with Isbel's help, finding Jackson seemed to take forever. The wind felt like knives as it blew through each of them, freezing them to their core. The snow was piled up to their knees, and still more came at them from every direction. The woods seemed almost alive in the gushing wind, and whipping branches and twigs tugged and tore at them as they trudged past.

Even as the nausea in her stomach lessened, a dark feeling grew in her gut to replace it. How long had Jackson been out here? Was it even possible he could still be alive?

A feeling like a punch hit her in her stomach, and so she turned around and motioned for Boyd and Erica to do the same.

She saw him then, a dark figure lying amongst the white snow.  _Jackson._

Through the snow they stumbled towards him, and Allison became aware of a pounding in her ears.  _Don't let him be dead,_ she pleaded.  _Please don't let him be dead._

Half buried in snow, Jackson's lips were blue and his skin was red with frostbite. Snow clung to his eyelashes and his hair. Allison knelt beside him and wiped the snow off with a gloved hand, lifting his head into her lap. She pulled her glove off and pressed a shaking hand to his neck. It took a her moment, but when she found his pulse—slow and weak, but there—she let out a breath of relief. "He's alive!"

Erica and Boyd both let out breathes of their own.

"Help me with him," Allison said, standing and attempting to lift Jackson from under his arms. Boyd stepped over and lifted Jackson up with ease. Allison let go, and turned to Erica and shoved her keys into Erica's hand. "Run back to the car, turn it on and start warming it up—don't make it too hot, we need to raise his body temperature slowly."

Erica nodded, and took off through the woods.

With Jackson in his arms, Boyd moved at a pace Allison could keep up with (if she jogged). They made it back to the car quickly, following the path they'd made on their way into the forest. Allison kept checking Jackson's pulse, sure that it would stop at any moment.

Erica was waiting outside the car for them, and she opened the back seat when Boyd approached with Jackson. The climbed in, and Erica headed to the passenger seat while Allison got back behind the wheel.

"He'll be okay, right?" Erica asked, as Allison got back onto the road.

"I don't know, we need to get him to a hospital or something..." Allison didn't even know if a hospital would be able to help Jackson—what if werewolves reacted to hypothermia differently? Did they need different treatment? She didn't know. But she also didn't know where else to go.

"We need to take him to Derek," Erica said firmly.

Allison opened her mouth to protest, but changed her mind. Erica was right, though she hated to admit it.

"Jackson? Jackson, can you hear me?" Boyd was saying, cradling Jackson in his arms. Jackson moaned, and Boyd cupped his face in his hands. "Jackson, can you hear me?"

Jackson's head rolled to the side, and he mumbled something Allison couldn't understand. Allison's heart beat picked up—Jackson was conscious. That had to be a good sign. Perhaps she had not lied to Lydia after all.

Boyd nodded, and moved his arm so Jackson's head was propped up. "Yeah, yeah we're taking you too him, don't worry." He said. "You're gonna be alright."

Boyd looked up, and Allison could see him looking uncertain in the rear view mirror. "We need to get these clothes off of him, they're soaking wet and freezing," He said. Erica turned around and looked at him. Boyd glared. "Shut up, okay? He's dying."

"Jackson? Listen to me—" Boyd put his hands back on Jackson's face. Jackson moaned again. "I need to take your clothes off, is that okay?" He asked. He repeated himself when Jackson didn't answer. Finally, Jackson groaned, and nodded his head, just a bit. Boyd nodded as well, and quickly stripped off Jackson's wet, icy shirt and jeans and tossed them aside. "Oh, holy shit—"

" _What the fuck?!_ " Erica gasped, still turned around in her seat.

Allison was unable to see anything from the front seat but Boyd's face in the rear view mirror. "What? What is it?" She asked.

"Nothing," Erica replied, pulling off her jacket and handing it to Boyd. "Cover him with this."

"I don't think leather is very insulating," Boyd replied. "And it's cold." With a sigh, Boyd took off his own jacket, and then his shirt. He cradled Jackson in his arms, holding him tight to warm his body with his own. He glared at Erica. "Say nothing."

Erica held up her hands. "I said nothing."

She turned back around in her seat, and they drove in silence for a few minutes. Jackson continued to mumble incoherently for the remainder of the ride. Every now and then Allison picked up a word—Derek's name, or Lydia's. "Cold","please" and "sorry" a few times each. What he was so sorry for, she had no idea.

When she looked back at the red light, she saw Jackson had wrapped his arms around Boyd's chest and seemed to be holding onto him for dear life. Despite what Boyd had said, he had covered Jackson's torso with Erica's and his jackets, like a make-shift leather blanket.

Erica directed Allison where ever it was that Derek was living these days. In the snow and the traffic, it took them forty minutes to get there. By the time they arrived, Jackson was almost semi-coherent. He kept asking for Derek, and Boyd kept reassuring him that he would be with him soon.

The moment Allison had pulled up to the building that Erica said was Derek's, Boyd bolted out of the car with Jackson in his arms and disappeared into the building. Erica hung back a moment. "Thank you, Allison," she said, opening the car door.

Allison nodded. She glanced up at the building, wondering if she dared follow Erica inside. No, she decided. Jackson would be safe now, he was with his pack. She had done all she could do. "Erica, wait," she said, as Erica climbed out of the car. "Text me when you know Jackson will be okay, alright?" She asked. She told Erica her number. Erica promised she would, and closed the door.

* * *

Derek knew something was wrong even before he opened the door. He could smell it, the worry and fear coming from Boyd, and the pain and hurt from Jackson. He pulled the door open and found Boyd standing there, shirtless, cradling a half naked Jackson in his arms. Derek's entire body tensed up at the sight of him, and he felt his stomach drop away. A million questions raced through his mind—what had happened, who had done this, who could he make pay—but he was able to voice none.

"He was out in the blizzard," Boyd explained, pushing past Derek into the apartment. "We need to get him warm." He put Jackson down on the bed, and began wrapping the covers around him, like a cocoon. "He's been asking for you."

In his blanket cocoon, Jackson groaned, shifting around. Slowly, Derek walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. He put his hand on the side of Jackson's face. His skin was ice cold, and his breathing was slow and shallow. Derek ground his teeth, refusing to break in front of Boyd. "Jackson?" He said quietly. "Can you hear me?"

Jackson's eyes opened slowly, and it took them a moment to focus on Derek. "Derek, it hurts," He said, his voice strained. "Please make it stop... please..."

"It's okay, Jackson, it's okay, I'm gonna take care of you," Derek told him, fighting to keep his voice even, his tone calm.

Derek heard Erica come into the apartment, and close the door behind her.

"What happened?" Derek demanded, not taking his eyes off Jackson.

"We don't know." Erica replied. "My money is on witches though."

"He'll be okay, right?" Boyd asked. "You know what to do?"

Stiffly, Derek nodded. "We have to break his arm, to trigger the healing process."

Jackson groaned loudly, and shook his head. "No, no please... please don't hurt me, Derek, please..."

Derek felt his throat close up. "Jackson, I have to," He explained. He pulled down the blankets, and took Jackson's arm in his hand. His flesh was brittle and red. Jackson shook his head again, moaning. "I have to, Jackson, please..."

"Don't, Derek please don't," Jackson begged. "Don't hurt me, please, Derek..."

"I... " Derek faltered, feeling on the verge of breaking down. He couldn't do it, he couldn't hurt him anymore. He was already in so much pain, Derek could feel it. He didn't have it in him to cause anymore.

"Move," Erica said, pushing Derek out of the way. He let go of Jackson's arms, and she grabbed it and snapped it backwards, breaking it cleanly. Jackson screamed and yanked his arm away from her, clutching it to his chest.

Derek let out a breath. "Thank you," He said quietly, putting his hand on Jackson's back as he rolled over on the bed, still howling and holding his arm. Derek put his hand on his back, and drew out the pain. Jackson's howls quieted to a whimper.

Erica nodded. "Should we go?" She asked.

"Yes,"

That was enough for Erica, and she turned towards the door. Boyd, however, hesitated. "You're sure he'll be alright?" He asked.

Derek nodded. "His broken arm will trigger the healing process, which will help regulate his body temperature. I'll keep him warm."

Still, Boyd made no move to leave. "In the car, we saw... his chest..."

Derek's back stiffened. "We have that under control," said. "It's not your problem."

Erica scoffed. "No offence, but if you  _don't_ have it under control, it'll be a problem for us all." Derek turned and glared at her, and she raised her hands. "I am just saying."

"It's under control," He repeated, flashing red eyes at them, a signal that they were done talking about this.

Finally, Boyd relented. "Alright," He said. With a final glance over his shoulder, he and Erica left the loft, closing the door behind them.

Derek looked down at Jackson, who was crying silently with his arm pressed against his chest. "You'll be alright," He said quietly. He pressed his palm to Jackson's shoulder, taking more of his pain away. Jackson gulped wetly, and shifted closer to him on the bed.

"Derek," Jackson whimpered, looking up at him through wet eyelashes. "Help me..."

Derek leaned in and kissed Jackson's forehead. "I promise Jackson, you're safe now. You're okay. I'm going to stay with you."

Derek undressed himself quickly, tossing his clothes to the floor. He pulled back the covers around Jackson and slipped down next to him, then pulled them back up over them. Pulling Jackson into his arms, Derek made sure their bodies were pressed flush together. It was as if he was holding onto ice itself, but Derek didn't care.

He buried his face into the back of Jackson's neck, and breathed in his scent, reassuring himself that Jackson was okay. He was fine, he was here, in his arms. He could keep him safe like this. "You're okay," Derek murmured. "You're okay."

Lying there, clutching Jackson to him as if worried he might slip through his arms if he let even an inch of space in between them, Derek became hyper aware Jackson's breathing, and the slow pounding of his heart. He was aware of the freckles covering Jackson's shoulders—had he ever really appreciated those freckles before? They seemed so important now. Everything about Jackson did, in that moment. Every freckle, every inch of him and who he was... everything he had almost lost.

"M'sorry, Derek," Jackson mumbled. Derek could feel Jackson pressing himself back against him, wrapping his own arms over Derek's where he held him. "So sorry, so..."

"Shh, it's okay now. We just need to get you warm, it'll be alright," He told him, kissing the nape of his neck.

"No, no s'not," Jackson slurred. Derek thought he was slipping out of consciousness again. That was fine, Jackson could heal while he slept. The rest would be good for him. "I tried, Derek... tried so hard... failed..." Jackson gulped again, choking on his words.

The hair on the back of Derek's neck stood up. "What... what did you do, Jackson?" He asked, his voice hollow. "What did you fail at?"

"Dying," Jackson moaned. "Tried to die... tried  _so hard..._ failed... I failed..."

Derek felt dizzy, felt like the room was spinning. He had been out in the storm on purpose. No witch had lured him, or tricked him out there. Jackson had tried to kill himself.

In his arms, Jackson was crying, crying that he was sorry, so sorry. Feeling numb, Derek tried to console him, tried to tell him it was alright. He was alright, everything would be fine. But he could no longer assure himself that it was the truth.


	25. Thawed

* * *

"Start by wiping the blood off of his chin and  
pretending to understand.  
Repeat to yourself  
"I won't leave you, I won't leave you"  
until you fall asleep and dream of the place  
where nothing is red.  
When is a monster not a monster?  
Oh, when you love it."  
—Caitlyn Siehl,  _Start Here_

* * *

Jackson woke up with pain hammering in his head and stabbing at his chest. He was covered in sweat, wrapped up tightly in a blanket. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and why.

Rolling over and struggling to sit up inside his blanket cocoon, he found Derek sitting next to him on the bed, clicking away on the laptop Jackson had known he owned, but had never seen him use before.

Derek shut the screen before Jackson could see what he was doing. "How are you feeling?" He asked, his voice quiet.

Jackson shrugged, pulling at the covers, unwrapping and rewrapping them over his shoulders so he could sit comfortably. "Still cold," He said. Despite the sweat, he could still feel that freezing chill in his chest, as if icicles clung to his rib cage. Part of him wondered if the cold would always be with him now, if it had become a part of him as he'd lain out there for hours, waiting to die.

He hoped not. That would be an unbearable way to live.

"Do you want me to get back in there with you?" Derek asked.

"No," Jackson said. "Well, maybe. I'll let you know."

Derek nodded, his face grim. "How much do you remember?" He asked. Jackson raised his eyebrows. "Of what happened when Erica and Boyd found you. You were... out of it. How much do you remember?"

Jackson shrugged again. "It's all sort of a blur," He admitted. "I remember being in the car... someone else was there..." He screwed up his face, trying to remember. "Allison, I think. Allison was driving the car." Derek looked surprised, but said nothing. Jackson thought more, and his face turned red when he remembered Boyd holding him, pressing Jackson's shivering body against his own, trying to warm him.

_Jackson, I need to take off your clothes. Is that okay?_

Boyd had asked for his permission, he remembered. He didn't know why, but that felt important. He had asked if it was okay... and Jackson had agreed. Somehow, it made the memory more bearable.

"Anything else?" Derek pressed. "Do you remember talking to me, once they'd left? Telling me what had happened?"

Jackson felt his face drain of colour. What had he said? "No," He said quietly. "I don't remember..."

"You told me you tried to die, Jackson," Derek said. His voice was blunt, plain. But Jackson could see hurt and fear in his eyes. "You told me you tried to kill yourself."

"Oh..."

" _'Oh?'"_ Derek repeated. "That's it, 'oh'?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me why, Jackson!" Derek was on the verge of shouting. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, and breathed in through his nose. When he spoke again, he was calmer. "Please, Jackson... why would you do that?"

Jackson shook his head, and looked away. "Because I had to, Derek." He pulled his knees up in front of him.

" _What?!"_

Jackson looked sharply at Derek, his eyes narrowed. "Derek, we both know that I'm turning back into a kanima. It's useless fighting it, it's  _going_ to happen."

"Deaton—"

"You can't fight something like this with some crap potion, Derek!" Jackson shouted. "He's kidding himself—you're kidding yourself! That stuff is doing  _shit all_ to help me. It's  _useless._ " He shook his head. "I'm going to turn again, I know it... and when I do, what are my options?"

"You  _have_ options—!"

"My  _options,_ " Jackson continued, speaking over Derek, "Are I turn, and you  _can't kill me._ So I kill countless others.  _Or,_ I turn and you  _do_ kill me... and it destroys you," He looked up at Derek. "I couldn't do that to you, Derek... I just couldn't..."

Derek was shaking his head. "No, you have other options, Jackson, you just don't want to see them. Want to know the  _only way_ you eliminate all your options? If you  _kill yourself!_ " Derek grabbed his hand. "Jackson, so long as you're alive, then they're  _always_ something we can can kill those witches, we can keep trying Deaton's cure—"

"It  _won't work!_ "

"You don't know that!" Derek shouted. "All you know is that your scared, and your tired. And I get that Jackson, I understand—but you  _cannot_ give up. Please, Jackson. You can't give up. It's not over, not unless you decide to end it."

Jackson shook his head. He felt his eyes begin to fill up with tears. "You don't know, Derek, you don't understand—"

"Then tell me! Let me help, Jackson. I want to help you."

"We can't kill those witches, Derek, they're basically indestructible!"

"I know that," Derek replied. "Scott sent me the file. He also told me they have a plan."

Jackson blinked. "What?"

"They have a plan," Derek repeated. "He wouldn't share the details, but he said Lydia found something... a way to contact one of the witches. Apparently one of them is playing for our team." Derek lifted Jackson's hand to his mouth, and kissed his knuckles. "See? There's still a chance. No one's managed to kill these witches before, but no one else has had one on their side."

"Oh..." That was true, wasn't it? One of the witches _had_ been talking to Allison, sending her messages for months now, he knew. Allison had said she wanted to help them.

Derek sighed, and pulled Jackson into his arms. Jackson rested against his chest, feeling numb. They had a plan... a plan to get help... could it work?  _Would_ that work?

"Jackson, I need you to hold on," Derek said, stroking Jackson's hair. "Please, just hold on. I promise you, it will be ok."

"You can't promise me that..." Jackson whispered.

"I know," Derek said. "But I am. I will not let you become a monster, Jackson. Not again." He pressed his lips against Jackson's, and Jackson felt tears begin to roll down his cheeks. He didn't know what he was feeling, didn't know what he wanted anymore. He had to die, didn't he? Wasn't that what the voice said? There was no other way...

"Tell me there's another way," Jackson said, his voice choked with tears. "Tell me..."

"There's another way," Derek told him. He kissed his cheeks, kissed his temple, kept stroking his hair. Jackson clung to him, clung to his words.

"I believe you," Jackson whispered. "I believe you..."

They stayed like that for hours, Jackson wrapped him in his blanket and wrapped up in Derek. At some point, Derek got up and made Jackson some tea, insisting he needed to drink something hot. When he gave it to him, Jackson recognized the scent of the same fennel tea he'd given to Derek, when he'd been injured.

Jackson drank the tea slowly, and relaxed back in Derek's arms. Tears kept threatening to spill over, and eventually he just gave up and let them. He cried into his tea, and into Derek's arms; he had been so lost, and so afraid. And he was sorry, so sorry about what he had almost done.

Almost without meaning to, he told Derek about the horrible voices in his head, and the visions of Matt that felt so real. Told about how he couldn't take it anymore, couldn't take any of it.

Derek held him tighter, and told him he  _could._ He was stronger than the witches, stronger than whatever they were making him see or hear. Told him that  _he_ needed to fight, fight for himself, because he could win. Derek made him promise to hold on, to hold out just a little bit longer. And  _he_ promised him once more that they would find a way. They  _would_ figure out how to kill the witches. No thing was truly invincible.

Jackson promised he would hold on, that he would fight. Promised and meant it.

And while Jackson talked, while he cried, while he huddled under his blanket with his tea and Derek, he felt the ice in his chest slowly begin to thaw.

* * *

At some point during the past day, a large screen television had appeared in the loft. When Isaac came home, arriving some time before dinner, he plunked himself down in front of it and began to watching, paying no attention to Jackson, curled up in a blanket on Derek's bed.

Derek was standing at the stove, waiting for the lasagna he'd made to be ready. He looked up as Jackson slowly uncurled himself on the bed and sat up. "How are you feeling?" He asked.

"Alright," Jackson replied. He glanced over at Isaac. "What are you watching?"

"Game of Thrones," Isaac said. "Season one."

"The best season," Jackson said, thoughtlessly parroting what he'd heard Stiles insist upon so many times.

Isaac looked over, and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah... you watch?"

Jackson shook his head. He stood up, making sure to keep the covers wrapped firmly around him, and walked over to the couch. "No, but, I was thinking of starting..." He said, taking a seat next to Isaac.

Isaac nodded. "It's good. Stiles says the books are better, but..." Isaac shrugged. "I'm not gonna read them."

Jackson nodded as well. "What's happening?" He asked, watching the screen.

As Isaac explained the plot so far, Derek came over and brought them both pieces of lasagna, and a one of his shirts for Jackson, who slipped it on while Isaac was engrossed in explaining the show. Then all three of them sat together and watched Game of Thrones. As they watched, Derek put his arm over Jackson's shoulder, and Jackson leaned against him, watching as Ned Stark slowly unravelled the secret that Jackson knew would lead to his death.

Sitting there, stomach full of lasagna, watching television with Derek, finally feeling warm... Jackson truly realized what he had almost given up.

He had been so lost... felt so hopeless... as if there was no reason to keep going, no reason why he should be alive. His life could only bring pain, and misery... for himself, and for everyone else.

But now, the hopelessness was gone. He felt... content. Almost happy, even. And if it was possible for him to still find moments of happiness, moments of contention even in something as simple as watching television with Derek... was that enough to hold on to? Was that enough for fight for?

He thought about the plan Derek had told him Scott had, to contact one of the witches... he was right, no one had a witch on their side before. If she helped, Abigail or Isabel or whatever her name was... could they actually win?

Jackson didn't know... but for the first time in a long time, he felt... hopeful.

Things could be alright, he realized. So long as he held on, so long as he didn't give up... they could still fight. They could win.

He could be alright.

"I don't understand," Derek said, for probably the thousandth time. Isaac was becoming increasingly annoyed with his questions. "What's happening?"

"I don't know," Isaac replied through gritted teeth. "Maybe if you wait five minutes, you'll find out."

"But who is that guy again?"

" _The King!_ "

"Oh... he's important, right?"

Isaac through his hands up in the air. "I give up, I'm ignoring you now."

"So he's not important?"

Jackson smiled, and put a hand on Derek's shoulder. "Not really," He said. "Not as important as you'd think." He put his hand on Derek's face, and turned it towards him. He kissed him, softly.

"What was that for?" Derek asked. They both ignored Isaac's noise of disgust.

"Nothing," Jackson said. "I'm just happy I'm here," He said.

Derek smiled at him, and squeezed his hand. "I'm happy you're here too,"

"And I'm happy we're all paying close attention to the show, and watching in silence," Isaac added.

Jackson rolled his eyes, and they went back to watching. Derek continued to ask questions throughout the episode, and Isaac continued to be incredibly annoyed by it. And he couldn't explain why, but it was the most okay Jackson remembered feeling, in a long, long time.


	26. Minds, Part One

* * *

"Those who don't believe in magic will never find it."  
—Roald Dahl

* * *

The spell was to be performed at Allison's house. They spoke very little as they set up. Most of the talking was done by Stiles, who was chatty when nervous, with the occasional reply from Scott.

They pushed her bed back against the wall, clearing enough floor space for the three of them to comfortably in a circle, as the book instructed. Only Allison, Lydia and Stiles would actually be performing the spell; Scott was there to make sure nothing went wrong.

"Are we sure we have everything we need?" Allison asked, looking around the room at the incense and candles they'd set up around them. "This is such a fire hazard," She said.

"Don't worry," Scott assured her. He took a seat on her bed, and then stood up again and moved over to her desk chair. If she wasn't so preoccupied, she would have told him to cut that out; he was free to sit on her bed if he wanted to. "I'll be here the whole time, remember? I promise not to let the apartment burn down around you."

"Good, that's good," Stiles said. He was sitting to Allison's right, and kept wiping his palms off on his knees. "Quick question, what are you going to do if something  _does_ go wrong? And I don't mean a candle falling over. I mean something going  _wrong_ wrong."

Scott held up his cellphone. "Call Deaton."

"Oh, you told him we were doing this?" Stiles asked. Scott nodded. "What'd he say?"

"Uh, not to."

Stiles nodded. "Right. Of course." He frowned. "Is it weird that knowing we shouldn't be doing this makes me feel better about doing it?"

"Yes," Lydia replied. She'd had her nose stuck in her little red book for ten minutes now. She and Stiles kept swapping it between them, reading and reading the instructions over and over again, as if worried they might change suddenly. "Alright, we're ready," Lydia declared, putting the book aside. "We have everything."

Despite what she said, she still examined their hastily put together altar once more. The altar was set up in the middle of their circle, over a pentagram they'd drawn with chalk on Allison's floor. "We have our candles, we have our wand, our chalice—" She pointed to each of the items, which they had bought earlier that day at the same store where Lydia had bought her spell book. Inside the chalice was the mixture of herbs that was supposed to induce their trance. Lydia had brewed them together with some wine earlier, and now the dark red liquid sat in the cup, waiting to be drunk. Only one ingredient was missing.

"We have our athame," She pointed to the black hilted knife that had once belonged to the Hastings sisters. "And our tokens..." She pointed to the items in the centre of the altar; a broadhead arrow head for Allison, a chess piece for Stiles and a bright yellow gemstone for Lydia, that she said was fluorite, and represented intellect.

For Isbel, they had the large coin she had given Allison, with the chaos knot on one side, and the alchemical symbol for water on the other.

Lydia looked up, and smiled tensely. "Shall we begin?"

Stiles and Allison exchanged glances, turned to Lydia and nodded. With a match, Lydia lit the incense on their altar. Then she picked up the athame and poked her finger with it, making a face as drop of blood welled up. She squeezed the blood over the chalice, adding it to the wine. Allison and Stiles did the same. Then one by one, they each drank from the cup.

The moment she swallowed the potion, Allison began to feel strange. The smoke from the incense seemed to grow thicker and thicker all around her, swirling up, clouding her vision and making her cough. She could feel Lydia's and Stiles' hands clasped in hers, but it seemed as though they were slipping away somehow. Or was it  _she_ who was slipping away from them? Falling through smoke, away from her room, away from Scott's concerned face...

Allison tried to force herself to focus, to hold onto Lydia and Stiles through the smoke. The book had said they needed to focus on those they would be sharing their minds with. She focused on Isbel, held on to the thought of the three of them... but the more she tried to hold on, the faster she fell. She was choking on smoke, choking and falling through a grey abyss...

And suddenly, the grey turned to white, and Allison was lying on the floor. She sat up, her head still spinning. Her room was gone, Scott was gone. Instead she was in a massive white room that stretched out endlessly around her. To her right, she saw Stiles lying on the ground, unconscious. To her left, Lydia was slowly lifting herself up, looking around at the great white space.

"I didn't think it would be so empty in here..." Lydia said. Despite the vastness of the room, her voice didn't echo.

Still feeling shaky, Allison hauled herself to her feet. She tried to smile. "We must be in Stiles' mind,"

On the ground, Stiles groaned. "Heard that," He muttered. He opened his eyes and began to sit up. "Not funny."

"Sorry," Allison said, offering him her hand. He grasped it, and hauled himself up. "Just trying to lighten the mood."

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "That's my turf," He said. Allison rolled her eyes and mumbled an apology. Stiles nodded, and then looked around them. "So I guess it worked, huh?"

"Depends," Allison muttered, her eyes scanning the area. "We're missing someone..."

Lydia tapped her shoulder, "Over there," She said, pointing. Allison followed her finger, to a small figure huddled in the distance. Isbel.

Allison ran over to her, making her footsteps loud so as not to surprise her. Something was wrong, she could tell. Isbel was on her knees, bent over with her face in her hands. The white dress Allison had always seen her in looked dirty, and frayed at the bottom. Allison slowed her pace, and approached slowly. "Isbel...?"

The girl looked up sharply, and Allison jumped, still taken aback by her appearance. She'd never seen her in such a bright light before, and the smooth expanse of skin that covered the place where her eyes should have been was still jarring. Isbel's lips curled. "What have you done?" Her voice trembled.

"I—"

"Oh, my god," Stiles said, coming up behind Allison. He stared at Isbel with an open mouth. "Holy crap, when you said no eyes you meant  _no eyes._ "

Before Allison could say anything, Isbel was on her feet, a hand raised out in front of her. Stiles made a choking nose, grabbing at his neck as if some invisible force was strangling to him. "Hhcck—" Isbel lifted her arm slowly, and Allison watched as Stiles was raised up in the air, his feet kicking helplessly below him. Isbel turned towards Allison. " _What have you done?_ " She demanded again.

"Isbel, please, put him down," Allison begged. "He didn't mean anything, he was just surprised—"

With a yelp, Stiles fell to the ground, gasping for breath. "What—hell—" He choked.

Allison let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you,"

"We did not do this," Isbel said. Allison furrowed her brow.

"I let him down," Lydia said, walking over to them. She put her hands on her hips. "This is a shared mind space, between the three of us. You're just a guest here. What we say goes." Allison stared at her, opened mouthed. Lydia shrugged. "You just need to know how to control it. It's easy, really."

Isbel bared her teeth. "You dare bring us into this place, to share our mind with these  _beasts?_ "

"What?" Allison asked, taken aback. "They're not  _beasts._ How are they beasts?" She'd known Isbel had a problem with werewolves, but Lydia and Stiles were both human. How could she have a problem with them?

Isbel shook her head. "All men are beasts," She spat. She turned to Lydia, who stood her ground. "This one is hardly better. She is tainted by magic."

Lydia blinked. "Magic?" She repeated. "What magic?"

Isbel snorted. "We have no time for this," She turned back to Allison. "Release us from this prison, before we notice."

Allison stared at her. "Uh... what?"

Isbel ruffled. "We are of one mind.  _We_ will notice." Allison understood. She meant her sisters. They would notice.

"Not if we did the spell correctly," Lydia replied. "That coin you gave to Allison, that was representative of  _you_ was it not? So only  _you_ could contact her?" Slowly, Isbel nodded. "Then it  _should_ have isolated you by bringing you here."

"Then we will notice we are missing,"

"Wrong again," Lydia said, smirking. "Time moves differently here. The book said we could be gone for hours, and barely a second would pass in the real world."

Isbel frowned. "So... we..." She pursed her lips, struggling with what she wanted to say. " _I_ am alone here?"

Allison nodded.

"And this is your mind? None of this is real?"

Allison nodded again.

"Then..." Isbel lifted her hands up, covering the top half of her face with them. When she pulled them away moments later, she had eyes. Big brown eyes, rimmed with dark full lashes. She blinked, and looked around her.

Allison gaped at her. "How did you do that?"

Isbel shrugged. "The same way your friend freed  _him,_ " Isbel said, gesturing to Stiles, who crossed his arms and looked offended. "Nothing in real, and non-reality may be twisted and formed in whatever way we choose."

Isbel turned to the side, and walked over to a round table with three chairs that had suddenly appeared. "Come," She said, taking a seat. "We have much to discuss."

Allison and Lydia sat down as well, and Stiles scoffed. "Aw, dude seriously," he said. "Come on!"

Allison looked at Isbel, who rolled her newly created eyes. A fourth chair appeared next to Lydia, and with an exasperated  _thank you,_ Stiles took his seat.

* * *

Boyd clasped his hands together, and stared down at Jackson with a grim expression. "Alright, Jackson," He said. Jackson glanced away, not wanting to get involved in this. This was over his head. "No, pay attention, man. This is on you." Jackson groaned and reluctantly looked back at Boyd, who raised his eyebrows. "This is serious now. You decide which way this goes. What'll it be?"

Boyd held up two DVD cases in his hands. "We've got two votes for Blade Runner, and two votes for Back to the Future. You're the tie breaker. Pick one."

Since Isaac's television had finally arrived, they had decided it was time for a pack movie night. They being Derek, who insisted that it was more important now than ever for Jackson to bond with the pack. Jackson also thought the movie night may have been a misguided attempt to cheer him up, after his... incident.

Jackson appreciated the effort, but there was no need for it. Whatever had driven him to do what he did had passed now. He was thinking clearly again, and he had a renewed determination to live. He had faltered, and he had fallen, but he had been saved. From the witches, and from himself. How many second chances was a person allowed? Jackson didn't know... but he did know he had squandered his first one. He had been alive, but he had not been living. He vowed to not make the same mistake twice.

Everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to make a choice. Jackson frowned. "What happened to Fight Club? Wasn't that an option at some point?"

Erica groaned and put her head in her hands. "Fight Club was ruled out in round one. We've all seen it too many times, it's overrated."

Isaac frowned deeply, and his brow furrowed. "Fight Club is not overrated..." He said.

"Whatever, we're not watching it. If  _you_ wanted to watch it, you should have said something ten minutes ago," She said to Jackson.

"C'mon, Jackson," Isaac pressed. "Back to the Future has everything you need in a movie—mild violence, romance, humour, action, a cute dog—Christopher Lloyd."

Jackson raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

Isaac groaned.

"Look," Erica said, "You should want to watch Back to the Future, just because  _you've never seen Back to the Future,_ which I thought was impossible. Didn't you ever want a hover board as a kid?"

"Hover what?"

Erica groaned. "I give up, he's hopeless."

"So you'll watch Blade Runner?" Boyd asked. Erica shook her head, and his shoulders fell.

Jackson sighed. "Why don't we just watch  _both?_ " He suggested.

Derek, who had been busy ordering the pizza, came over and sat down beside Jackson. "You just don't want to choose sides,"

Jackson shrugged. "This way, I don't have to."

"Did you order the pizza?" Isaac asked.

"No," Derek said.

Isaac frowned. "Then why are you sitting—oh. You're joking." Derek raised his eyebrows at him. "You know, there's such a thing as being  _too_ deadpan." Derek shrugged.

"Alright, we are watching both," Boyd declared. "Now, how do we decide which one we watch first?"

* * *

There was a tension in the air as they all sat around the table, each of them waiting for another to say something. It was an almost physical electricity, as if at any moment something was about to burst around them. It made her want to fidget and look around the strange space they were in, but Allison made herself keep still. She fixed on Isbel, trying to figure out what she was going to say to her. She had so many questions and no idea where to start.

She noticed that Isbel kept shooting Stiles the evil eye—she seemed to like him even less now that she could  _see_ him. Stiles, not one to back down under pressure, was steadily returning her glare.

"So," Lydia said, breaking the tense silence. "You know a lot about us, huh?"

"We—I see much, yes," Isbel replied.

"Care to share?"

"Lydia," Allison interrupted, raising her eyebrows. "Is this really the time?"

Lydia tilted her head. "Do you know  _another_ time we'll get to ask these questions?" Reluctantly, Allison shook her head. "Thought so." She turned back to Isbel. "I have a few questions."

"We do not have  _time_ for your infantile questions."

"Hey," Stiles snapped. "We have lots of time, alright? Just answer her questions."

Isbel turned and narrowed her eyes. "You will not speak to us in such a tone,  _boy,_ "

Stiles scoffed, and rolled his eyes. Allison bit her lip, but he said nothing else. "Isbel," Allison said, trying to sound gentle. "Stiles isn't wrong. We  _have_ time. If you wanted to, you could answer her questions."

Isbel regarded her for a moment, and then turned to Lydia. "What would you have me tell you?"

Lydia smiled. "Well... what am I?" She asked. "I mean... I am... something, aren't I? What does 'tainted with magic' mean, specifically?"

"You do not know?" Isbel asked. She sounded genuinely surprised. Lydia shook her head. "They have many names for the creature you are," Allison saw Lydia's eyes widen at the word  _creature._ "Wailing woman,  _bean sidhe..._ "

There was a spark of recognition in Lydia's eyes. Her mouth opened. "A-a  _banshee?_ " She asked. "I'm a frickin'  _banshee?_ "

Isbel nodded, and Lydia turned to Allison, stunned. Having no idea what to say, Allison simply shrugged, and offered her a half smile. What were you supposed to say, when your best friend finds out she's a banshee? It did explain a lot...

"I've always thought banshees were cool," Stiles offered.

"Do not ask questions to which you do not wish to know the answer, wailing one," Isbel replied coolly.

Lydia glared at her. "I wanted to know the answer," She said. "I'm just surprised." She licked her lips, and looked at Allison. "I guess we know who the harbinger is now," She said, smiling weakly. "It's me. Your friend, the harbinger of death."

Allison reached out, and put a hand over Lydia's. "My best friend," She clarified. Lydia's smile turned grateful.

Lydia took a deep breath, and turned back to Isbel. "I have another question." She said. "Jackson. What are you doing to him?"

Isbel's lip curled. "Yes, we had forgotten you were involved with the lizard boy."

"Don't call him that."

Isbel arched an eyebrow. "Is it not an accurate name?"

" _No,"_ Lydia snapped. "He's not a lizard anymore."

"Yet," Isbel replied. "I believe the word which would be most accurate is 'yet.'"

Allison felt her face drain of colour. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Stiles leaned forward, his eyes wide. "Is he turning again?" He looked at Lydia, but she looked just as stunned as Allison felt.

She thought back to the other day, to Boyd stripping Jackson's clothes off him, and shouting in surprise. They had covered him up before she could see anything. Had they been covering up scales? "Oh, god."

Isbel looked pleased with herself.

"Is that why he tried to kill himself?" Lydia asked.

"He tried to kill himself?" Allison and Stiles asked in unison. There was a sinking feeling in Allison's gut. This was just getting worse and worse. Lydia had refused to talk about what had happened with Jackson, and now Allison knew why. Jackson had been out in that storm on purpose.

Isbel nodded. "Yes, and without my intervention, he would have succeeded." Isbel said, glancing at Allison. "I thought you would not like this."

Allison nodded numbly. "Yes, thank you."

Isbel's mouth twitched slightly. Allison thought it may have been a smile. She turned back to Lydia. "Your friend has been through much these past months. Most would not have lasted as long as he did, under such pressures."

"Pressures?" Lydia asked.

"We... my sister," Isbel said. "Nan, she... took a liking, to your Jackson. He's been something of a... plaything to her." Isbel smiled cruelly. "She likes the way he suffers."

"Jackson is  _not_ her plaything," Lydia's mouth was set in a hard line.

Isbel tilted her chin up, regarding Lydia. "You love him still," She said. "Even after all his betrayals." She shook her head. "Perhaps you are more human than we thought."

"Betrayals?"

"Isbel, don't," Allison said. Lydia looked sharply at her, and Allison swallowed.

"Don't  _what,_ Allison?" Lydia asked. Her tone was sharp enough to draw blood.

Allison fought against cringing, not wanting to reveal any more than she'd already given away. "I mean, she doesn't need to get into this. You've asked what you wanted to ask, we need to move on now."

Lydia's eyes narrowed. She leaned forward slightly, and laced her hands together under her chin. "You're a very good liar, Allison," She said. "But I haven't gotten my answer yet." She turned to Isbel, and arched an eyebrow.  _"Well?"_

Isbel looked at Lydia, and then to Allison. She looked back at Lydia. "I only meant that he broke off your relationship. Nothing more. Is that not betrayal enough?"

Lydia shook her head. "You said  _betrayals_.Plural.  _What else did he do?_ "

Again, Isbel looked to Allison. Allison felt herself breaking, unable to continue to lie so pointedly to her best friend. Besides, she wasn't sure how long Isbel would hold out for, or why she would bother lying for her in the first place. It would be better if Lydia heard it from her. "Lydia... there's something you should know. Something about your break up..."

" _What?"_

Allison decided to say it quickly. Like ripping off a bandage. "I found that Jackson was cheating on you, and I-I forced him to break up with you. I thought it would hurt you less if you never found out. I'm, I'm so sorry."

Lydia stared at her, her expression ice cold. "Who?" She asked, quietly. Allison wasn't sure whether she was imagining it or not, but she thought the actual temperature of the room had lowered considerably. Was that a breeze she felt?

"Who?"

"Who was he cheating on me with?" She asked. "Do I  _know_ her?"

Allison hesitated. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Isbel's face break into a grin. Lydia noticed too, and turned to her. "Tell me," She said.

"Wait—"

"The alpha," Isbel spilled, unable to contain her glee. "The one who calls himself their leader, he has had your lizard boy for many months."

Above their heads, thunder clapped and lightning crackled. Allison looked up, shocked, and found dark grey storm clouds. "Uh, Lydia..."

"Derek," Lydia spat out the name as if it were poison on her tongue. "He's been fucking  _Derek fucking Hale?!_ "

Lightning burst out of the clouds and struck the white ground, leaving a charred mark where it hit. Stiles jumped a foot in the air, looking back and forth between the overhead clouds and Lydia's furious expression. "Holy shit."

Isbel nodded cheerfully. "They are filthy together. Nan is enthralled with this destructive entanglement. I am repulsed." She paused, and seemed to consider this for a moment. "Yes, I am repulsed."

Allison thought she might vomit. "Lydia, I'm so sorry—"

Lydia shook her head, and held up a hand. "Not now, Allison." Lightning crackled. "Not now."

Slowly, the grin slipped off Isbel's face. Her voice turned sombre. "It is better to know the truth of his deceit. The hearts of men are never pure, always traitorous."

"Hey!" Stiles protested. "That's not true. I am extremely pure hearted." He said. Lydia looked at him, a doubtful expression on her face. Stiles turned back to Isbel. "My friend Scott is extremely pure hearted."

Lydia put her face in her hands. The clouds above rumbled. "I can't believe he was cheating on me... and with  _Derek Hale._ Didn't we use to think he was a murderer?"

"Guess Jackson decided that didn't matter," Stiles said. Lydia groaned.

"Your friend is not of his right mind," Isbel said. Allison thought she was trying to be reassuring. "He thinks much of his own suffering, and often wishes to increase it. His alpha thinks he helps, but their depravity only causes him to hide further inside himself. He makes himself an easy target for us."

Allison raised her eyebrows. "And Derek makes it worse?" She asked.

Isbel nodded. "Together they may hide from the world. Your Jackson runs to his arms, and away from friends, family, life. He ignores responsibilities, ignores even his own suffering. He deals with nothing. It's not an effective way to live." She tilted her head. "It is however, an excellent way to die."

Allison felt terrible. She couldn't say she was surprised—as if being with Derek Hale could be good for someone. But she hadn't realized it was quite so bad... hadn't given Jackson all that much thought at all, really. Not since she'd forced him to break up with Lydia. She had been her priority... but Jackson was her friend too.

And he was in pain, that much was clear. She had to help him. But how? Killing the witches would help, she knew that—it was obvious that they were in his head, driving him to madness just like they'd done with Mrs. Thompson, Luis Kennedy and countless others. But would it really solve all of his problems? Allison was skeptical. No, she needed to do something. When this was all over... she had to help. Jackson couldn't just be left to throw his life away, in favour of doing whatever he was doing with Derek.

He deserved better than that.

* * *

They decided to watch  _Blade Runner_ first. Though they had to wait for Derek to go out to get the pizza they had ordered (he had refused to get it delivered). And while Derek was picking up the pizza, it only made sense for him to pick up some snacks, too. So said Erica.

Initially, Derek disagreed. But for all of his growling and threatening, Derek turned out to be a surprisingly easy person to push around. Erica and Isaac barely had to bug him for ten minutes before he relented, and grumpily agreed to picking up some red vines, chips and diet coke.

"And get some of those mini powered donuts!" Boyd called after him. Already down the hall, Derek shouted something back that may or may not have contained a swear word. Boyd shrugged. "He says that now, but wait and see, he'll come back with them."

Boyd and Erica were sitting together on Derek's couch, and Boyd had his arm around Erica's shoulder, and kept playing with locks of her blonde hair. She didn't seem like she minded. It would have been a cozy scene, but it was ruined a bit by Isaac, who was half-lying down on the couch as well, with his feet over their laps.

Jackson was by himself on the loveseat.

Isaac looked appraisingly at Boyd. "I would've thought you'd  _hate_ those donuts," He said, a slight smirk tugging at his mouth. Boyd raised his eyebrows. "Since  _Stiles_ had them at Allison's last week. And I'm pretty sure he said something about them being his favourite."

Boyd rolled his eyes. "What, I'm not allowed to like donuts just because  _Stiles_ likes donuts? That's ridiculous; donuts never did anything to me."

Erica frowned deeply. "I don't know," She said seriously. "I think they're kinda ruined for me now?" She looked at Isaac. "Stiles  _really_ said he likes them?" She bit her lip, but then grinned.

"What's your problem with Stiles?" Jackson asked, leaning forward slightly. Erica and Boyd looked at him. "I mean... you guys seem to really hate him. More than just the usual damn-it-Stilinski type annoyance. Like, seriously hate him."

Boyd didn't blink. "And your question is... ?"

"Well,  _why?_ " He pressed. "I mean, I have my own reasons for hating the guy. I'm just curious about yours."

Erica and Boyd exchanged looks. "You tell him," Erica mumbled. "I don't feel like getting into it."

Boyd pushed Isaac's legs off of him and sat forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Alright, you remember that time Erica and I were kidnapped by the Argents?"

Jackson nodded. "I've heard about it."

"Yeah. Well, they kept us locked up in this basement, tied up with electrical currents running through our bodies, to keep us down." Boyd said it matter of fact, but Jackson saw Erica wince. He tried to imagine what that would be like, but couldn't. "I don't know how long they had us for. They didn't even  _want_ anything, y'know? Didn't try to interrogate us or anything. I think they were just hoping that at some point they could use us against Derek." Boyd shook his head. "Anyways, at some point, we had a visitor. Stiles."

Boyd and Erica exchanged looks, and Jackson furrowed his brow. "Gerard Argent had kidnapped him too," Boyd continued. Jackson felt a deep sense of unease at the mention of Gerard. "He threw him down in the basement, beat him up a bit... then let him go." Boyd smiled bitterly. "Now, Erica and I were relieved—not just for Stiles, but for us too. Because we're thinking, he'll tell someone, right? He'll run right home to his Sheriff father and  _tell him_ that Gerard Argent has the two of us tied up in his basement, right?"

"Nope," Erica said, a bitter smile on her face to match Boyd's. "We waited for  _hours._ I thought he was fucking  _dead_ or something—that Gerard hadn't really let him go, but he'd actually taken him out and shot him or something. Because if he got out alright, of  _course_ he would have told someone. Sent someone to come rescue us?" She snorted. "So stupid. I was  _so stupid._ "

Boyd put a hand on her shoulder. "Chris Argent is the one who let us go. Derek found us shortly after, running through the woods. It's amazing how being electrocuted for hours messes up your senses."

"And when we got back, we found Stiles alive and well. And he hadn't told a single person. Not his Dad, not  _our_ parents, no one. He  _knew_ what was happening to us, and he didn't do a single thing about it." Erica ground her teeth. "And I hate him for that. I  _fucking_ hate him."

"To be fair," Isaac added. "It's a pretty good reason to hate someone."

Jackson nodded, feeling a little stunned. He knew he wasn't really in a position to judge Stilinski—he was no better than him, not really. Not even including all the people he had murdered as the kanima, Jackson had done some terrible things as himself, too. He had known about Isaac's abusive home for years and done nothing, not considered it  _his_ problem.

But Stiles was  _supposed_ to be one of the good guys, wasn't he? Wasn't he playing on the heroes' team?

Jackson had never thought much of Stilinski—had thought even less of him, after hearing him advocate for his execution, back when he'd been the kanima. But he hadn't thought he would be capable of this. It definitely explained why Boyd and Erica were also so hostile around him.

Boyd let out a breath, and rubbed his hands on his jeans. "You know, it's good to talk about this." He said. "I feel kind of better."

Erica rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. "Bully for you," She said. "All I can say is after this, I could really use some damn donuts. Derek better hurry up and get back here."

* * *

"Uh, look, I hate to... I mean Lydia, I'm really sorry, Jackson is fucking asshat, but I just—one thing," Stiles said, glancing between Lydia and Isbel. "What was that you said, about Jackson turning into a lizard again? Because I feel like we should all maybe focus on that, for just a second." He cringed slightly.

Lydia wiped at one of her eyes, careful to avoid smudging her make up, and nodded. "Yes, let's talk about that instead." She looked at Isbel. "Can you stop it?"

Isbel shook her head. "It is a curse which lives in him. Our magic revived it, but now it works of its own accord."

Lydia looked sad. "That's why he tried to kill himself." She said.

"The notion was encouraged by Nan," Isbel said with a slight nod. "And once planted, very easy to push him towards."

"But there has to be something we can do," Allison said. "Some way to stop him from turning."

Isbel tilted her head back, considering. "It is possible," She began. "That once you've destroyed us, the curse will disappear as well. Our magic unlocked it, and once our magic is gone... if he has not turned into a kanima, completely, by that time. It may be undone."

"And if not?" Lydia asked.

"I've heard that an act of pure selflessness can release a soul from the binding of such a curse." Isbel offered. "Perhaps have him try that?"

Stiles snorted. "Jackson? Pure selflessness?" He grinned for a moment, but dropped it quickly when he saw the looks on Allison and Lydia's faces. "Sorry."

Allison ran her tongue over her teeth, thinking. It wasn't much, but it was a shot at least. If Isbel could help them take down her sisters, then there was a chance they could save Jackson, too. And if not... well, then they were all doomed anyways, weren't they? Eventually they would get tired toying with everyone like they were, and they would move on... leaving Beacon Hills in ashes behind them.

"I have a question," She said. Isbel turned her attention towards her, and waited. "Why me? Why reach out to me?"

Isbel regarded her for a moment. "You were what I needed," She said simply. Allison's brow creased slightly. "We—my sisters and I—we've been doing this for many years. We could turn the ocean red with the blood we've caused to be shed. It... it could not go on.  _She_ could not allow it."

Isbel stared off in the distance. At first Allison thought it was just mournful, staring-at-nothingness... but then she saw something in the distance. A figure walking towards them. A girl with long, wavy brown hair in a white nightgown. She appeared far away, and then was suddenly much closer, jumping a mile in a split second.

A fifth chair appeared for the girl at the table, and she seated herself. Close up, Allison saw she resembled Isbel. Her big, round brown eyes were identical. The girl smiled, and it looked sad.

"Charlotte," Lydia said, looking at the girl. "She's Charlotte."

The girl, not really there, flickered for a moment. Isbel nodded. "Our baby sister. Always the gentlest, the kindest. The bleeding heart." Isbel's sad smile matched Charlotte's. "We killed her, and her spirit bound us together, made us almost as one. One being, full of power."

"I don't get it," Stiles said, looking between the two sisters. "If she's dead, how'd she make you regret this whole magical murder-spree thing?" He raised his eyebrows.

Isbel glanced at Lydia. "Dead does not always mean gone," She said quietly. "Over the years, Charlotte's spirit grew stronger. And like our elder sister Nan, she began to whisper... whisper in my ear. In life, we two were closest. She reminded me of my humanity, of my betrayal... of the girl I used to be. Eventually, I listened. And I knew she was right. We could not be allowed to continue this way. The chaos we cause, it violates the balance of nature. We are abominations. We must be stopped."

"But you can't do it on your own, can you?" Stiles asked.  _"That's_ why you need Allison. _"_

Reluctantly, Isbel nodded. Out of the corner of her eye, Allison saw the flickering image of Charlotte fade away. "Yes. I needed someone with... connections, to the world of the supernatural. But magic, as I know too well, it mars the soul. Corrupts it. I needed someone human, with knowledge."

"Oh, I see," Allison said, smiling ruefully. "I was the only one in Beacon Hills who was human, but knew about the supernatural, and was also a girl. Is that right?"

Isbel leaned forward. "No," She said. "That was what I needed, yes. But more than all of that, I looked into your heart Allison Argent, and I knew it was  _you_ whom I needed above all else. I saw your courage, and your strength. I saw the way you've battled and fought with darkness, and refused to be consumed. I saw everything in you that I lacked in myself and I knew it must be you."

Allison blinked, unsure of what to say to that.

"Geez, get a room you two," Stiles said.

Isbel turned on him, eyes blazing. "I have had enough of your insolent mouth, boy. You best mind it."

Stiles gaped at her. "You've had enough of  _my_ insolence?" He asked, sitting back in his chair. "Because you've been  _so_ nice to me this whole time, right?" He leaned forward again, glaring. "We're in a shared mindscape. You don't have any power over me that I don't have over you, so you better watch where you hurl your threats—" Stiles broke off, no longer able to speak, due this his lack of a mouth. His lips had disappeared, leaving smooth skin where they had once been. Horrified, Stiles touched the area with his hands. The look he gave Isbel was one of pure loathing.

Isbel narrowed her eyes. "I do not make threats, Stiles Stilinski. Only promises."

Allison looked back and forth between Stiles and Isbel. "Lydia, can you fix him?" She asked, also feeling a bit horrified. She'd seeb  _The Matrix_ once when she was younger, and although she refused to admit it at the time, the scene where Neo lost his mouth had really freaked her out. Seeing it live in front of her like this was even worse.

Lydia focused on Stiles, and shook her head. "It's not working," She muttered. "I can't put it back..."

"What do you think my sisters and I have been doing all these years? We manipulate reality, we play with people as if they are our toys." Isbel replied. "You think if I tried, I could not stop you from interfering?" She pursed her lips. "I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."

Stiles was making muffled shouting noises, his sealed jaw moving up and down.

"Isbel, please," Allison said, feeling tired. "Please put him back."

Isbel shook her head. "He must learn respect."

" _Isbel—"_

"No, Allison," Isbel said, a force behind her words that told Allison she meant it. "This one must learn that there are some to whom he cannot  _mouth off_ without facing consequences.  _We demand respect._ "

"And I think  _this one,_ " Lydia interrupted, glaring at Isbel, "Needs to learn that travelling around for 200 years causing thousands innocents to  _die_ or  _lose their minds_ isn't exactly something that fosters a lot of  _respect_ in others." She raised her eyebrows. "In fact you could almost say it's something that would cause people to  _look down_ upon you."

Isbel stared back at Lydia, her eyes burning with hate. But she said and did nothing.

"Stiles may not know how to mind his mouth," Allison said quietly. "But at least he tries to save lives. Not destroy them."

Isbel continued to sit stiffly in silence. Allison wondered if she was about to lift her hand and choke the life out of all three of them. If they died in a mindscape, what would happen to them? Would they just snap back to their bodies? Or would it really kill them?

Isbel blinked, and with a loud gasp Stiles' mouth came to him. His eyes were wide with relief and he opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, grateful to have it back. "God that was horrible," He said. He glared at Isbel. "Crazy eyeless bitch."

Thankfully, Isbel ignored him. "I think," She said, her voice quiet and stiff. "That is it time we turn our attention to the matter at hand."

Allison nodded. "I think so, too."

Stiles, glaring and rubbing his jaw, said "Yeah, I'd really like to know how to kill you now."

Isbel barred her teeth at him, but Stiles remained unharmed. With difficulty, she turned away from Stiles, and composed herself. "What I am going to tell you will be one of the more difficult tasks you attempt in your lives. For some of you, it will be... painful." Isbel looked grimly at each of them. "Under attack, my sisters will not go quietly. And they are strong. You must not undertake this, if you are not prepared for a fight."

Allison's shoulders tensed. She looked at Lydia, and at Stiles. "Your sisters are hurting my friends," She said. She looked at Isbel, and narrowed her eyes. "I'm ready for a fight."


	27. Minds, Part Two

* * *

"I've got an idea, how about we become witches?  
And we can tear up this rotten world together.  
Until there is no more evil, no more sadness, until there's nothing left.  
We'll break and smash and pound it into dust.  
But if we did that, wouldn't that be great?"  
—Homura Akemi,  _Puella Magi Madoka Magica_

* * *

Derek came back with red vines, popcorn, chips, donuts and more pizza than they could possibly eat. Everyone began grabbing at everything the moment he set it down, and they all settled in to watch the movie. Jackson had never seen or even heard of  _Blade Runner,_ but not a single person had expressed any interest in watching  _Hoosiers_ or  _Cinderella Man,_ so who really cared what they wound up watching.

It was quiet as they watched. Every now and then someone would make a comment, or ask a question, but essentially everyone was silent. As Derek had already seen this film, Isaac was spared his incessant questioning.

Boyd kept his arm over Erica's shoulder as they watched, his other hand entwined with hers. Jackson couldn't help but notice how cozy and comfortable they looked, and glanced side ways at Derek, who seemed to have made a point not to touch him since he'd sat down, as far away from Jackson as it was possible to sit on a loveseat.

Was it because Erica and Boyd were here that he kept his distance? He hadn't had a problem putting his arm around him when they'd been watching television with Isaac. But he supposed Isaac was different. He lived with Derek. They'd eaten pancakes together in their pyjamas and underwear. Whatever line there was had been crossed both ways.

Once, Jackson would have been on board with keeping his distance around Erica and Boyd, and Isaac too. But now, he couldn't care less. What did it matter if they saw? They already knew, and had probably known the whole damn time. As far as he could tell, they didn't seem to care.

Steeling himself, Jackson slowly shifted closer to Derek, so that there was no space between them on the couch. He moved his legs apart slightly, letting his knee brush up against Derek's.

Derek turned to him, and raised his eyebrows. Jackson shrugged.

Derek glanced over at the others, checking to see if they were paying attention. Isaac was taking yet another slice of pizza, while keeping his eyes fixed on the flickering screen. Erica and Boyd were also watching intently, sharing a red vines rope.

Slowly, Derek lifted up his arm and put it over Jackson's shoulder.

Jackson smiled, and relaxed against him.

* * *

The air in the room was chilled, and everything was quiet and still as they listened to Isbel speak.

"Before any magic can be performed against us, we must be separated, physically. We are strongest together, and if you are to have any chance of beating us, we must not be. Lead us away from one another."

"How?" Allison asked.

"Over the years, as Charlotte's spirit has grown stronger, our bond has grown weaker. If it had not, you never would have been able to summon me here without bringing them as well. But we are now more separate than we have ever been. More of our individual selves than we have ever been. As such, Nan and Abigail each have those that they are drawn to, separately. Those that they will follow on their own, without hesitation.

"I made mention of Nan's inclination towards the liz—Jackson." Isbel corrected. "She will follow him. He may lead her off, in order to engage her on his own. Abigail has taken towards another mongrel, the blonde she-wolf. She thinks her fiery."

"Erica," Allison told her. "Her name is Erica."

"Yes," Isbel said, her lip slightly curled. "Erica. She as well will be able to lead my sister away."

"And then what?" Stiles pressed. "Erica and Jackson will be alone with your sisters. What are they supposed to do?"

"My sisters and I are not truly alive, as you would understand the term," Isbel said. Allison was unsure at first if she was answering Stiles' question, or ignoring him. "Therefor we cannot be killed, in the traditional sense. We are magic and chaos and darkness. Before we can be destroyed, we must first be bound to a living soul. This will tether us firmly to this plane."

Lydia inclined her head. "So Jackson and Erica have to do some kind of spell, and bind your sisters to them?" She sounded doubtful.

Isbel shook her head. "Someone else must go with them and perform the spell. It will not be easy, for either parties. My sisters will not be easily bound. Erica and Jackson will have to fight."

"They'll fight," Allison said. "Erica and Jackson are tough."

* * *

"Oh,  _score!_ " Erica cheered as she successfully managed to land a piece of popcorn in Isaac's mouth from the opposite end of the couch. This was after having missed repeatedly. Jackson was enjoying watching them, and laughing at how terrible they were at this. More than once, Erica's aim had been so off that Isaac had actually fallen off the couch trying to dive for the popcorn. It was hilarious, and pathetic.

"Well you were bound to get at least one in a hundred," Jackson chuckled.

"It wasn't one in a  _hundred,_ " Erica sneered. "Fifty maybe. But not a hundred."

Jackson grinned and shook his head. "Right, sorry, my bad."

She raised an eyebrow. "Think you could do better, pretty boy?" She asked.

"I know I could," He replied.

"Bring it on," Erica held the bag of popcorn out to him, but Boyd snatched it out of her hand before Jackson could get up.

"Derek, stop them before there's blood shed," Boyd said. Erica frowned at him, and grabbed the bag back. "Please?"

"Both of you stop," Derek said, not really paying attention. He was busy trying to stuff two boxes of pizza into his narrow refrigerator.

"Killjoys, all of you," Erica grumbled, reaching into the bag and stuffing a handful of popcorn in her own mouth.

There was a loud crunching sound as Derek  _shoved_ the boxes into his fridge, possibly destroying them in the process. Satisfied, he closed the fridge door and turned to Erica. "You're not the one that's going to have to clean up the popcorn that's all over the floor later," he told her.

"I wish we could all just get along," Isaac said, slumped over on the couch. Boyd rolled his eyes at him, and Isaac smirked. "Come on, let's just watch the next movie already."

"Derek has to put it in," Erica said.

Derek frowned. "Why me?"

"Because you're standing," Erica replied. "Pack rules."

"That is not a pack rule."

"I thought the pack rule was Jackson has to do everything, because he's the new guy," Jackson said.

Boyd nodded. "Yeah. If no one had been standing, we would've deferred to that rule." He said. Jackson glared at him, and Boyd flashed a wide grin.

* * *

The more Isbel told them, the more Allison felt her doubts growing. She hadn't realized it, but she'd been hoping for a more physical solution to the problem. Like, some kind of magical sword that they could find, which had the power the kill witches. Or a weapon they could make that could be used against them. Something like that. But magic? She'd been nervous enough, performing the spell that had got them here. Now Isbel was telling her the key to defeating her sisters was using even more magic. Not just using it, using it against two incredibly powerful witches, who knew more about magic than Allison ever would. How was this supposed to work?

Allison felt a hand on hers, and she jumped slightly. Isbel was watching her, her cold hand resting gently over Allison's. "I know the way it sounds," She said quietly. "Performing magic against my sisters... you do not think it could work."

Slowly, Allison nodded. "They're more powerful than us," She said. "Like, a lot more."

"You have to think positively, Allison," Lydia said. "We'll never beat them with that attitude."

To Allison's surprise, Isbel nodded. "Your friend speaks true," She said.

"Holy crap, it agreed with you," Stiles muttered. "Amazing."

Isbel glared at Stiles for a moment, grinding her teeth. Allison didn't understand why Stiles couldn't just  _shut up._ Fortunately, Isbel let it slide. "Much of magic comes from simply believing you have the power to accomplish what you will," She continued.

Allison raised her eyebrows. "You're telling me the answer to defeating your sisters is to believe in ourselves?" She asked.

Isbel nodded again. "That is key," She said.

Stiles banged his head on the table. "We're...  _so... screwed._ "

Lydia pursed her lips to the side. "You are not helping her opinion of you."

Head still on the table, Stiles turned his face towards her. "Because that's on my list of priorities."

"Of course, I will be helping to keep my sisters subdued," Isbel added. "Our magic is bound together, and despite our separation I will be able to tamper with their magic, stop them from resisting... it should be enough to help you overpower them."

Stiles lifted his head up. "Dude, you should have lead with that!" He said. Allison nodded in agreement. Isbel helping definitely helped turn the odds in their favour. She felt a bit better.

Isbel looked surprised. "I thought it went without saying that you would have my help," She said. "I will do everything in my power, of course, to aid you."

"Thank you, Isbel." Allison said.

Isbel blinked, staring at her with wide eyes. "I... you're welcome, Allison," She said. "It is the least I can do."

Under his breath, Stiles murmured "You don't say."

With a loud  _yelp,_ Stiles' head was thrust forward, as if some invisible force had shoved him from behind. He looked around violently, rubbing the back of his head.

"Isbel, seriously?! _"_ Allison asked, exasperated.

Isbel's eyes went wide, and she opened her mouth, presumably to defend herself. "Actually—" Lydia interrupted, raising her hand a little bit. "That was me." Stiles gaped at her, hurt, and Lydia shrugged. "Sorry, but you're getting on my nerves too."

* * *

After both movies had been watched, a debate was sparked over which had been better.

"Look, I love  _Back to the Future,_ " Boyd said, "But you just can't compare it to  _Blade Runner._ They're on entirely different levels."

Erica rolled her eyes. " _Pfft,_ horseshit." She replied. " _Back to the Future_ is fun and entertaining, and sends the message that sometimes punching an asshole in the face at the right time can change everybody's lives for the better," She put her hand on her heart. "I feel that message, Boyd. I feel it in my soul."

Isaac frowned. "I don't think the point of  _Back to the Future_ is that it's good to punch people in the face," He said. "It's about having confidence in yourself, and taking control of your own destiny."

"Yeah," Erica agreed. "By punching people."

"I have to agree with Isaac on this one," Boyd said.

Isaac grinned. "Thanks Boyd," He said. "It's still a better movie than  _Blade Runner._ That film's way too confusing. What was it even about? Were the androids good or evil, in the end? If they were evil, why was Indiana Jones in love with one of them?"

"They weren't good or evil," Derek spoke up. "The point is the replicants were never given a chance to be either."

Jackson nodded. "They had their choices and their lives taken away from them," He said. "It didn't matter what they wanted. Their options were to live like criminals, or slaves. They did what they had to do."

Derek looked surprised. "Yeah," He said. "Exactly."

"So you thought it was better than  _Back to the Future?_ " Boyd pressed. Jackson shrugged. "That's not an answer."

Jackson raised his eyebrows. "My answer is I'm staying out of this." Boyd groaned, and sat back in his seat. "Look, they were both good, alright?"

"Yeah, they were both good, but which one was  _better_?"Erica pressed.

"You really want to know what I think is the best movie?" Jackson asked. Erica, Boyd and Isaac nodded. " _Hoosiers._ "

Erica groaned, and Boyd closed his eyes and shook his head. Isaac just stared at him, deeply disappointed. Jackson gave a one shouldered shrug.

Derek, running his fingers up through the hair on the back of Jackson's head, chuckled quietly. "No one can say you're not consistent." He said.

Jackson frowned. "Is that a nice way of saying boring?" He asked. "You think I'm boring?"

"Yeah, Jackson," Derek replied. "That's exactly what I meant."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jackson saw Erica lightly slap Boyd's arm. "Look how far they've come," She said. "A month ago they wouldn't get with in 10 feet of each other while we were around; now they're having a lovers spat in front of us." She grinned at them. "So proud of you guys."

Derek glared at her. "We're not having a spat."

Jackson shrugged. "Felt like a spat to me."

"The more you guys say 'spat' the less it sounds like an actual word," Isaac mused. "Spat... what is that?"

"A spat is a mild argument, or petty bickering," Boyd said.

Isaac rolled his eyes. "Thanks, I know what the word  _means,_ " He said. "I just meant, it's kind of a weird sounding word. Spat."

Erica groaned. "Stop saying spat, oh my god."

"You started it!"

"Seriously Lahey? 'I started it'?"

"Well... you did."

Derek gave a long, loud sigh. "Alright, shut up." He said. "It doesn't matter who started it, I'm finishing it. No more spat. Not that Jackson and I were ever having one."

Jackson shrugged once more. "I still say it felt like one," He said. Derek glared at him, and Jackson was unable to hold back a smirk.

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," Lydia said, leaning forward in her seat and looking intently at Isbel. "First we have to lead your sisters away, using Jackson and Erica as live bait. Then we bind Nan to Jackson and Abigail to Erica, which is basically the magical version of roping them to a chair, am I right?"

Isbel blinked. "Um, yes?"

"Well, then what?" Lydia asked. "I assume the plan isn't Erica and Jackson go the rest of their lives with evil witches magically super glued to their souls."

"You would be correct," Isbel said. "The final step is a spell similar to an exorcism."

Stiles' jaw dropped slightly. "An exorcism? Seriously? Like with holy water and  _'the power of Christ compels you'_ and everything?" He looked around. "Because I don't know if you guys have seen that movie, but let me just tell you, it does not end well for the guys  _doing_ the exorcising."

Isbel looked confused. "There was a movie about this?"

Stiles regarded her. "You know about movies?"

"I know... of them." She said stiffly. "We have never seen one, of course... I have always been curious but..." She frowned. "It is no matter.  _I_ will be performing the spell. However, I will be in need of help."

"What kind of help?" Allison asked.

"This sort of spell, it takes power to perform. Power I will be lacking, once my sisters are bound. And even more so, after one of them has been destroyed. The more people performing the spell, the more power it will have. I will need all of your help."

Stiles looked doubtful. "Even mine?"

Isbel nodded. "I like it no more than you, but it is the only way. Four is required, and it works best when those performing the spell have a connection to one another. Now that we have shared the mindscape together, we have that connection."

Lydia glanced at Stiles. "Stellar," She said.

"What about you?" Stiles asked. "If you're one of the people performing the exorcism how do we exorcise  _you?_ "

Isbel shook her head. "The spell we are to perform is  _not_ an exorcism, they are just similar in their basic goal, that is, ridding a human host of a demonic force or energy possessing it. Instead of simply  _expelling_ the entity, or sending it hell if you were to believe in that, this ritual will destroy my sisters entirely. They will be dead, and gone, forever." Isbel paused. "And once they are, the magic that was keeping me alive—keeping us all alive—will be broken, and I will die. And with any luck, once we are all dead, Charlotte's spirit will be free to move on to whatever else there is. For me, I suppose if there is a hell, it will be waiting."

Allison frowned. "That doesn't seem fair," She said.

Isbel smiled sadly at her. "I suppose I forfeited my right to fair when I helped slay my baby sister."

* * *

Waking up from the mindscape was like waking up from a deep sleep, very very abruptly. One moment Allison was saying goodbye to Isbel, and the next she was slammed back into her body like a cork being forced back in its bottle. She looked around, taking in her room, strangely surprised to find it looked the exact same way she left it. Candles flickering, her bed pushed off to the side—Scott sitting at her desk, a look of mild surprise on his face.

Next to her, Lydia and Stiles were adjusting with similar looks of discomfort.

"What's wrong?" Scott asked, furrowing his brow as Stiles stood up and stretched his back and arms. "You're not doing it?"

Lydia frowned. "No, we did it." She said, uncrossing her legs and standing as well. "It was a very interesting experience."

The confusion on Scott's face grew more pronounced. "You're kidding," He said. "That's it?"

Stiles snorted. "'That's it,' he says," He mumbled. "How long did it seem like we were gone for?"

"It didn't," Scott said. "You took a drink, closed your eyes, then opened them again and now we're having this conversation."

Allison ran her fingers up through her hair. "It felt like we were gone for hours," She said, feeling dizzy. It seemed so strange, everything that happened with Isbel... everything they had learned... and it had all taken place in less than a second.

Scott looked back and forth between them all. Lydia was going around the room, blowing out candles. Stiles had flopped down on Allison's bed, and was staring unhappily at the ceiling. "Witches, man," He said. "Talk about temperamental."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Please, you baited her."

Stiles sat up, gaping at Lydia. "She baited me! Come on, she was after me from the get go. Because I'm a  _guy._ "

Lydia shrugged. "Well, you definitely didn't help."

"Do I ever?" Stiles asked, rolling his eyes.

Scott clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Sometimes, dude," He said. Stiles smiled at him. "So, what'd you guys learn?" He asked, turning back to Allison. "Can we get rid of the witches, or what?"

Allison nodded. "Isbel told us everything. She's going to help us." Allison stood up, and blew out the last of the candles. "Text Derek or Isaac, tell them we have a plan."


	28. Burn

* * *

"Ask yourself,  
Will I burn in Hell?  
Then write it down,  
And cast it in the well.  
There they are,  
The mob it cries for blood.  
To twist and tale,  
Into fire wood."  
—Queens of the Stoneage,  _Burn the Witch_

* * *

Derek paced around the loft, shaking his head. "I don't like it," He said, for what was possibly the 15th time. "I don't like it at all."

"Which part?" Isaac asked, sitting slumped back on the couch. "The part where Jackson has to let the evil uber witch into him, or the part where he gets exorcised by the girl that tried to kill us in the fall?" He raised his eyebrows. "You know, Erica has to do it too."

Derek glared at him, his eyes fiery red. "I don't like it for her, either," He growled. He turned and looked at Erica, who was sitting at one of the stools by the kitchen counter with Boyd. "I don't like it for either of you."

Jackson said nothing. Allison, Scott and Stiles had just left. They'd filled them in on the whole mind-sharing-adventure thing, and told them about the plan. Jackson and Erica had both agreed to what was asked of them, but Derek was having doubts.

"Too bad," Erica said. "We're doing it."

Derek shook his head. "No, I don't like it," He said. "Something could wrong—these witches have been  _personally tormenting_  each of you for the past four months! Now you want them  _bound_ to you? It's ridiculous."

"We're doing it," Jackson said quietly.

Derek wheeled around to him, eyes still blazing. "What was that?"

"I said we're doing it," He repeated, flashing his own blue eyes for emphasis. "Weren't you the one who's always telling me we'll find a way, come up with some plan to kill these witches? Well, this the plan, Derek. And there's not gonna be another one." He raised his eyebrows. "So you're either helping us out, or standing in our way."

Derek ground his teeth, his jaw tight. "I hate this plan," He muttered.

"But you'll help?" Boyd asked. He was looking at Erica. "Because god knows we need you, Derek."

Derek huffed. "Of course I'm helping," He muttered, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. "You'll all die without me."

Erica nodded. "That's the spirit."

* * *

They gathered outside the school at dusk. According to Allison, that's where the witches had been hiding, ever since Derek had found them at his old house.

Everyone was quiet, huddled in groups in the parking lot, waiting for someone—Allison or Scott—to tell them it was time to go inside.

Jackson saw Lydia moving through the groups, handing people things. When she approached him, she shoved whatever it was at him without making eye contact and turned away.

"Wait, what is this?" Jackson asked. It looked like a large, thick coin, imprinted with some kind of writing in a language Jackson didn't know. In the middle was a large gem.

Lydia paused, her back to him. "It's an amulet, for protection." She said. Her voice was stiff. Cold.

Jackson's brow furrowed. "Did I do something to piss you off?" He asked. "Recently, I mean."

Lydia whipped around to face him, her hair flying behind her. " _No,_ " She said, in a tone that made him pretty sure she was lying. "Not  _recently._ "

Before he could ask anything else, she turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving Jackson staring after her. Jackson wasn't sure why, but he had a sinking feeling in his stomach. She must have discovered something he had done a while ago. He just hoped it wasn't what he thought it was.

"What was that about?" Derek asked, walking up behind Jackson.

"Don't know," Jackson said. He turned to him, and shrugged. "Just Lydia being Lydia."

Derek raised his eyebrows, suggesting that that was not an adequate explanation. Jackson just shrugged again. "I need to talk to you," Derek said, obviously deciding that discussing Lydia's behaviour could wait. He glanced around him, and leaned in towards Jackson. "Before we do this, I need—"

Jackson shook his head, and took a step back from Derek. "Nope, forget it." He held up his hands, and stepped back further. He wasn't going to do this, this whole  _in case we die in there_ talk.

"Jackson—Jackson,  _listen to me,_ " Derek growled, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him back in.

Jackson shoved at him, and Derek let go, still looking furious. "No way," He said. "Whatever you want to tell me, tell me after." He said.

Derek sighed deeply and opened his mouth, but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Allison at their side.

"Everything okay over here?" She asked, smiling brightly.

Derek just glared at her, and nodded stiffly.

Allison looked at Jackson. "Jackson?"

"Yeah, yeah it's fine, Allison," Jackson said. "We're just having a  _disagreement._ "

Derek snorted, and Jackson saw Allison's eyes narrow, but she said nothing, and walked away.

"Does everybody know what they're doing?" Allison asked, raising her voice to address them all. There were mummers of  _yes_  throughout the group. "Everybody have a amulet?" More murmurers. "Alright, well then I guess we better get going. I'm not sure how long it will take to find them—"

Allison was cut off by a blast of light from inside the school. A few windows were blown out, and the air seemed to buzz around them. Then everything was dark again. Allison and Scott exchanged looks. "Guess they started the party without us," Scott said.

Allison drew an arrow from her quiver and notched it into her bow. "Let's go," She said.

* * *

It took the combined efforts of Scott, Derek and Boyd to break down the front door. They filed slowly into the building, looking around at what should have been their school. Instead, they found themselves in a large white maze, with walls that stretched up into nothingness, and corridors that went on forever. The air was so cold Allison almost expected to see her breath misting in front of her.

"Well," Lydia said, standing at Allison's elbow. "This should be fun."

Scott was on her other side. "Do we split up?" He asked.

Allison shook her head. "Not yet," She said. "We should stay together until we know what's happen—" She broke off and almost fired her arrow, as Isbel appeared abruptly before her. Beside her, Lydia let out a startled gasp, and she heard Erica and Stiles swear.

After having spent so long with her in the mindscape, it was a shock to see her once more with no eyes. Isbel was floating a few inches off the ground, bare toes brushing against the white maze floor. "Allison, we—they know," Isbel said, her voice panicked. " _They_  knowwe've conspired—they are hunting—they are  _furious—_ "

"Did you make this maze?" Allison asked.

Isbel nodded furiously. "Yes, yes we are hiding—we must hide!" Isbel grabbed her wrist, as if intending to pull her off to somewhere safer.

Allison shook her head. "No, Isbel, you know what we have to do." She said, putting her hand over Isbel's. They hadn't come here to hide, they'd come to fight. Isbel had to let them be found.

Isbel floated up, a few more inches off the ground. Then she lowered again, and placed her feet firmly on the floor. "Yes, yes alright..."

Isbel let go of her, and the maze began to change around them. Twists and turns straightened to become long corridors, left turns became right turns. Everything shifted and moved around and then stopped abruptly. Everything and everyone went still. And they waited.

Allison heard them before she saw them. Aa low whimsical humming, like a nursery rhyme. She could heard it as it were playing inside her own heard. Then a voice, quiet and soft, a voice singing " _Is...bel... we're comiiiiiing for you Is...bel..._ "

A noise like the cracking of a whip, and both witches were before them, floating several feet off the ground. They looked just like Isbel, with long dark hair and flowing white dresses. The only features they possessed that made them distinguishable were that one of the girls was missing her mouth, and the other her arms.

The one with a mouth—Abigail—smiled. "Oh Izzy, you brought your little friends!"

In her head, Allison heard Nan's voice, chanting " _playtime,_ " in a sinister sing song voice.

"Leave them alone, they've done nothing," Isbel warned, putting herself between Allison and her sisters.

" _Isbel, wretched girl, you know that's not true,"_  Nan's voice hissed in her head.

"Playtime," Abigail said, still grinning. She put out her hand, and Allison was knocked aside. She smacked head first into one of the maze walls. Her vision went black for a moment and when it came back into focus she was on the ground. Around her, she saw the others had been scattered, struck down and bashed against walls by Abigail's invisible hands.

In her head, Nan's voice began to whisper to her.  _"gouge your eyes out, gouge out your eyes—fingers in the sockets, stab them, just like Izzy, gouge out your eyes—"_

As if moving on their own, Allison found her hands moving up, intending to listen to the voice in her head. She wanted to do it, wanted to claw her eyeballs out, to dig her fingers deep into her skull—

Something heavy knocked into her side, Allison found herself held down by Lydia. "No, Allison, whatever you're doing,  _stop!_ "

Allison shook her head, trying to get a grip on herself. Her friends were in trouble. Nan had made Stiles turn on Scott, and Scott was holding him down, screaming at him. Boyd had broken his own arm, Erica was coughing up blood. Derek was holding Jackson and Isaac at arms length, trying to stop them from killing each other.

A wave of nausea came over her, and Allison felt the need to hurt herself ease. "Lydia, Lydia I'm alright," She said, sitting up. She recognized the feeling of Isbel's magic, and despite feeling like she wanted to vomit, she was grateful. The others were coming out of it too, likely with Isbel's help. They stopped fighting each other and hurting themselves.

After snapping his broken arm back in place, Boyd grabbed Erica's hand and hauled her to her feet. She was still wiping blood from her mouth. And then, together, they ran. They disappeared around the corner, moving faster than Allison had ever seen.

"I'll get them!" Abgail hissed, turning and gliding off in the direction they'd gone. "Little chickens, running away from the slaughterhouse..."

Next to run was Jackson and Derek, taking off in the opposite direction. And just like Isbel had said, Nan went after them.

"Allison, are you alright?" Isbel asked, rushing over. Allison nodded, lifting herself up on shaking legs.

"We have to hurry," Allison said. She looked around and found Stiles, standing up with some help from Scott. "Are you ready?"

Stiles nodded. He grabbed his back pack from the ground where it had fallen, and shrugged it on. "Let's go."

They went after Erica and Boyd first, following Isbel as she led them through the maze. "Are you guys sure you know what you're doing?" Scott asked.

"Oh, yeah, totally," Stiles said. He looked a little pale.

"And by that, he means, no. Not a clue," Lydia added.

Stiles nodded. "Yup."

"Remember what we discussed," Isbel said. "To accomplish magic you must believe you have the power to do so."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Right," He muttered. "Believe in ourselves, and the power of positive thinking will save the day."

"Or simply choose to believe in nothing, and we can all die." Isbel retorted. "Yes, that is a much better plan."

Stiles glared at her, but said nothing.

Isbel led them around another corner, and at the end of the corridor they found Erica and Boyd. Erica was down on her knees, grabbing at her hair with an expression of pain on her face. Next to her, Boyd was kneeling frantically by her side, shouting her name and desperately trying to help her.

Scott made to run towards them, but Isbel floated in front of him, blocking the path. Scott glared up at her. "They need my help!" He said.

Isbel shook her head. "No one can help. Erica is fighting my sister for control. She must have a hold on her, before we can perform the spell." She turned around slowly, and addressed Boyd. "It is a battle she must face without your help."

"But you're helping her, right?" Allison asked. "You're keeping your sister down?"

Isbel nodded. "She is isolated inside of Erica, separated almost completely from our magic. This weakens her. What little magic she still draws from our bond I am tampering with. She is as weak as she can be. It is up to Erica now, to keep her down."

Erica dropped to all fours, and gritted her teeth. "I have her!" She shouted. She reached out for Boyd, and he grabbed her hand. "Do it, whatever the hell it is!"

Stiles dropped his bag to the floor, and began pulling supplies out of it. White chalk, candles, the tools of an altar—Allison and Lydia grabbed them from him and began to set up. Lydia drew a pentacle on the floor. It was invisible against the white floor, but Isbel lifted her hand, and the lines turned black. Lydia nodded her head in thanks. Allison began to set up the altar, setting down a black cloth with another pentacle drawn on it near the one Lydia had made. She put down a small stone bowl, and emptied a bag of premixed herbs and oils into it. She lit the candles, and the incense.

Stiles approached Erica, still gripping Boyd's hand and looking pained. He had the chalice and the athame. "We need some of your hair, and blood," He explained.

"Fuck you, Stilinksi," She spat.

"Erica—"

"I'll do it," Boyd said. He took the athame from Stiles, and lopped off a small piece of Erica's blond hair. He put it in the chalice, and then pricked one of Erica's fingers, and let the blood drip in as well. Erica didn't even flinch.

Stiles passed the chalice and athame to Allison, who put it on the altar.

"She needs to stand in the circle," Isbel instructed. Erica grunted in acknowledgment, and with Boyd's help, stood up and walked over to the pentacle. She let go of Boyd's hand slowly, and then stood in the centre.

Allison, Isbel, Lydia and Stiles joined hands around her.

The four of them spoke together. Since Allison and Stiles hadn't been able to learn the latin spell in time, they would be performing it in english.  _"We call out to the darkling upon this soul, to that which does not belong,"_  They recited. _"Let it banished, let it be destroyed. From fire it came, to fire it shall return."_

A feeling like wind rose up around them, and a look of pain came across Erica's face. Her back bent, and she fell to her knees.

" _Darkling we call to you, leave not only this body but this world. Let your corruption end, let the hate disperse, let balance be restored. From fire it came, to fire it shall return."_

The wind picked up, screaming so loudly in Allison's ears that over it she could barely hear the screams coming from Erica, or the panicked questions from Boyd. Lydia and Isbel's hands had grown hot in hers, as if power was radiating from them both. And she knew, knew deep in her heart that they could do this, and that it would work.

Erica fell over and began to convulse on the ground, and Allison could hear Boyd shouting for them to stop what they were doing, begging them please to stop.

"Abigail is trying to fight us," Isbel shouted over the wind. "Do not stop!"

They began to chant again.

_"We call out to the darkling upon this soul, to that which does not belong. Let it banished, let it be destroyed. From fire it came, to fire it shall return."_

Blood poured from Erica's mouth and Allison saw her eyes roll back into her head. Still they continued.

" _Darkling we call to you, leave not only this body but this world. Let your corruption end, let the hate disperse, let balance be restored. From fire it came, to fire it shall return."_

Erica sat up suddenly, her eyes wide and milky white. She opened her mouth as if to scream, but no sound could be heard. There was a blinding flash of light, and a warm gush of air rolled over them.

Suddenly everything stopped. The screaming wind quieted, the light died away, and Erica fell over once more.

Allison could hear Boyd sobbing. He was being held back by Scott. "Is it over?" He asked. "Is it done? Please..."

Isbel, holding her head in her hands and looking slightly ill, nodded. "You may go to her." She said.

Scott released Boyd and he ran over and fell to the ground beside her, pulled her into his arms. "Erica, Erica are you okay?" He shook her slightly. "Erica?!"

Slowly, Erica's eyes opened. They'd returned to normal. When she saw Boyd, she smiled weakly. "What was all that screaming for?" She asked. "I'm fine, you big baby." Boyd laughed, tears still in his eyes. Erica reached up, and kissed him softly. "Don't you know I'm made of steel?"

Boyd nodded, and hugged her too him. "I know," He said. "I know."

* * *

Derek pulled Jackson forward through the maze, zigging and zagging around corners at random, trying to put distance between them and the witch. Jackson could hear her laughter in his head, soft and quiet and  _familiar._ He knew that laugh, had heard it for months. The voice in his head was real and alive and chasing him. And that was part of the plan, the plan needed her to follow him... but while he ran, he was thinking about getting away. The plan couldn't have been further from his mind.

Somehow, he was able to make himself stop. They had to stop, they had to get caught. Derek seemed to have forgotten this, and when Jackson stopped he tried to pull him forward again. Jackson shook his head.

Derek growled at him with red eyes. "Jackson, she's coming."

"You don't think I know that?" Jackson snapped, pulling his arm away. "We  _can't_ run, Derek!"

" _Listen to the boy,_ " Nan's voice whispered. Derek looked around wildly, but she hadn't caught up to them yet. " _You cannot run from me,_ "

She appeared then, floating around the corner looking like something out of Jackson's worst nightmare. No mouth, just pale white skin stretching over her jaw where it should have been. Her dark eyes were set deeply in her face, and seemed to sparkle with light, as if she were particularity excited.

This was her, this was the person—if you could call her that—that had tortured him for the last four months. Driven him to try and  _kill_ himself. Tormented him with every horrible fear and thought that had ever crossed his mind, every terrible thing that had ever happened to him.

She looked at him, and though no smile could cross her face, Jackson swore he could see one in her eyes. " _How beautiful you are,_ " She whispered. _"How sweetly you suffer..."_

Jackson lunged at her, was almost surprised when he was able to tackle her out of the air and pin her to the ground. He saw surprise in her eyes as well.

" _Let go, let go of me, you don't want to touch me Jackson,"_ She intoned. Jackson felt his grip begin to loosen, obeying her against his will. He forced himself to cling tighter, to resist, to not listen, but he was swimming against the current and he wasn't sure how long he could do it for.

But Derek was by his side, just like they'd planned. He threw a handful of herbs on the two of them, and began to chant " _Ego ligaveris vos, ego ligaveris vos..._ "

Jackson heard Nan scream as Derek bound them together. She was like ice piercing his skin as she sunk into him, and then he was screaming too, screaming as she tore and bit at him, fighting with everything she had. But slowly, slowly Jackson could feel her slipping away, slipping into him like a poison.

Suddenly the maze was gone, and Jackson was no longer lying on the white floor, holding Nan down. Instead was in a vast black space, absolute black everywhere he looked. And then through the darkness, he saw him standing there.

Matt.

Matt put his hand out, suddenly close enough to touch. He touched Jackson's face, softly. Jackson shuddered. "Don't do this, Jackson," Matt whispered. "You don't want this."

Jackson shook his head. "I know what you're doing," He whispered. "It won't work."

Matt smiled sadly at him. "Let me go, Jackson." He said. "And you'll never have to see me again. Never have to feel me again."

"Shut up,"

Jackson's head was swimming. He could see the darkness around him, see Matt as clear as anything. But behind that he could see Derek, hear Derek telling him to hold on, to fight. He shook his head, fought to hold on to the darkness, and to Matt. He wouldn't let him get away.

"Jackson, listen to me," Matt murmured, leaning in, brushing his lips over Jackson's. Jackson stayed still, rigid. "You used to listen to me, remember? It was easier, you know it's true. Let me show you what to do, how to let go... just give in to me Jackson. Give in and be mine, one more time."

Without even knowing what he was doing, Jackson grabbed Matt by the front of his shirt, and threw him down to the ground. And he took every feeling of fear, every ounce of shame and hatred and he put into his fist colliding into Matt's face. " _You took my life away from me!_ " He shouted, hitting him again and again.  _"You took everything I was and you ruined it! It was_ mine  _and you had no right, do you hear me?"_ On the ground, Matt flickered, turning back into Nan for fractions of seconds and Jackson knew he was beating her down. Not with his fist, not really, but with his will, with the force of everything she had done to him over the past few months. All the thoughts she'd made him believe, all the things she'd twisted in his mind. He would never let her control him, ever again. No one would  _ever_ control him again.

Nan flickered back into Matt and Jackson lifted him up and shoved him back against the ground, imagining sounds of cracking and smashing. " _Jackson... please..._ " Matt croaked, his words lacking all of his usual power.  _"You... need me..."_

Jackson slammed him against the ground again. " _I never needed you,_ " He hissed. He lifted Matt up, imagining his face was broken and bloody and seeing it that way. "And I was  _never_ yours. Not for a second." He let Matt fall back to the ground, and he stayed limp.

The blackness flickered again, becoming a double image with Derek in the maze. "Derek... I have him," Jackson sputtered, trying to hold on to both views at the same time. "Her, I have her... She's down."

"Okay, Jackson, that's good," Derek said, holding his hand. "Just keep holding on, the others are here, they're going to get her out of you."

Jackson nodded, doubling over, his head aching with the effort he'd expended. He could feel her trying to get back up, trying to break out of his hold, but he focused on the image of Matt on the ground, and kept her down.

In the part of his vision that could see the maze, Jackson saw Stiles come into view. He furrowed his brow. "Jackson, I need your blood and your hair."

"Fuck you Stilinski," He muttered.

Stiles rolled his eyes, and handed a knife and a big stone cup to Derek. "Fine, whatever, you do it."

Derek glanced at the knife, and then at Jackson. Jackson thrust his hand towards him, and reluctantly, Derek poked one of his fingers with the blade, and collected the drops of the blood in the cup. Then he sliced off a piece of his hair, placing that in the cup as well.

"He has to stand in the centre of the pentacle," Jackson heard someone—Allison, he thought—say.

Taking him by the arm, Derek helped him over to wherever he was supposed to be standing. Then Allison, Lydia, Stiles and the witch without the eyes gathered around him, holding hands. They began to chant.

" _We call out to the darkling upon this soul, to that which does not belong. Let it banished, let it be destroyed. From wind it came, to wind it shall return."_

Jackson felt a ripping sensation grow in his chest, as if his heart and ribs were began torn from his body. He screamed, and in his head heart Nan scream with him.

Jackson fell to his knees, clutching his chest as if trying to keep himself together.

" _Darkling we call to you, leave not only this body but this world. Let your corruption end, let the hate disperse, let balance be restored. From wind it came, to wind it shall return."_

Jackson was being torn, torn in every direction, shredded and ripped apart until he felt like he would have nothing left. Nan was shouting and crying in his head, begging them to stop, begging her sister for mercy.  _Isbel,_ she pleaded, sobbing. Jackson didn't even know if anyone but him could hear her.

The other continued chanting, and Jackson continued to scream as they tore at him from all sides and Nan tore at him from the inside, scraping and clawing to hold on, to keep her claws stuck in him. He tasted blood in his mouth, felt it dripping down his chin, warm and thick. It felt as if they were trying to take something from him, take away some part of him that he  _needed._ They were stealing bits of him, taking everything he had and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The pain reached a climax and Jackson thought he would pass out. Nan's pleas had become garbled and incoherent, but louder and screeching. Jackson put his hands over his ears, trying not to hear her dying screams.

And with a sudden drop, like a body falling from the gallows, it stopped. The pain, the screaming, the tearing. It all went black for a moment, and Jackson found himself lying on the ground.

Then Derek was pulling him into his arms. "Jackson? Are you alright?" He asked, panicked.

Jackson groaned, feeling ill. He was covered and sweat, and could feel himself shaking. "Of course not," He muttered. "Just went through fucking hell, and you want to know if I'm alright?"

Derek let out a sigh of relief. "You're alright," He said, apparently not listening to anything Jackson had to say. Derek pressed his forehead against Jackson's, and Jackson could feel him shaking, too. "You're alright..."

* * *

When the spell was finished, and Jackson had collapsed on the ground, Allison felt Isbel's hand slip from hers. She saw her fall to the floor, and the white maze around them flickered and disappeared, leaving them standing by the Beacon Hills High pool.

Allison fell to her knees beside Isbel and lifted her into her lap. She saw that instead of the smooth expanse of skin covering her face, two painful looking gouges had appeared where her eyes should have been. "I-it worked," Isbel muttered, blood running down her cheeks like tears. "We d-did it..."

Allison nodded, brushing a piece of hair off Isbel's face. Her appearance had changed drastically, with her magic gone. Now Isbel's hair was short and straight, coming to just below her ears. Her face was pointier, nose longer, lips thinner. She had freckles. Allison supposed this was what she'd looked like while she'd been alive. "I'm sorry, Isbel," She said. "I'm so sorry."

Isbel shook her head, smiling weakly. She reached out, and Allison gripped her hand. "Do not be, Allison Argent," She whispered. She squeezed Allison's hand tightly, and then her grip loosened and Isbel slipped away.


	29. Dawn

* * *

"Be proud of your place in the cosmos.  
It is small. And yet it  _is_.  
How unlikely.  
How fantastic.  
And stupid.  
And excellent."  
—Cecil Palmer,  _Welcome to Nightvale_

* * *

They buried Isbel in the forest, at the foot of an old oak tree. Allison and Scott dug the grave, despite Derek's insistence that if a member of the pack where helping, it would go faster. Allison said nothing, and simply continued to dig. Scott told him they would take as long as they needed.

When the hole was dug, Scott placed Isbel's body in the grave, and then he and Allison covered it back up. They patted the earth flat with the shovels, and stepped back.

"We should say something," Allison said.

"You should say something," Lydia replied. "She liked you."

Allison nodded. She was quiet for a moment. "Isbel... I know you did a lot of terrible things in your life time, and hurt a lot of people. But in the end, you did the right thing, and without you we never could have destroyed your sisters. I will be forever grateful for that... and I want you to know that despite all you did, I am proud to call you my friend. I hope that where ever you are now... it's some place you can find peace."

Lydia put her hand on Allison's shoulder. "That was nice," She said. Allison smiled sadly.

After the small funeral, the group went their separate ways. Allison and Lydia went back to Allison's house and Scott and Stiles snuck back in to Scott's. The pack went to Derek's loft.

Nobody said much as they filed into the loft. While Erica, Isaac and Boyd all curled up together on the couch, Jackson headed straight for the washroom. He locked the door behind him, and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked pale, and there were dark bags under his eyes. The binding and the exorcism had taken a physical toll on him although he bore no wounds. Still, it would all be worth it if...

Heart hammering in his chest, Jackson reached for the hem of his shirt, and pulled it over his head.

No scales.

Jackson blinked and rubbed his eyes, did a double take. Still no scales. Just skin, just his chest and torso and no scales. He put his hands over his face, feeling like he wanted to cry.  _No scales._

He put his shirt back on left the washroom. Derek was by the stove, putting the kettle on, and Jackson threw his arms around him and pulled him in for a kiss. " _No scales,_ " He mumbled, mouth pressed against Derek's. He pulled back and grinned. "No  _fucking_ scales."

Derek stared at him, slightly stunned. He lifted up the bottom of Jackson's shirt, revealing the smooth, scaleless skin. "No scales," He repeated, astonished. Jackson nodded, grinning wildly. Derek tugged him forward and kissed him again. "Thank fucking god," He said.

"Scales?" Isaac said, looking at him from his place on the couch. He and Erica had curled up on either side of Boyd, who had his arms over them both. "What scales?"

Boyd ruffled his hair. "Don't ask," He said. "Just be happy they're gone."

Erica nodded tiredly, and shot Jackson a thumbs up.

Jackson felt like dancing. He felt like singing and laughing and... actually, he felt like lying down. His moment of giddyness had distracted him from it, but he was actually quite physically exhausted. Deciding that he would celebrate later, Jackson went over to Derek's bed and flopped down, smiling happily against the pillows. He was free, he was finally fucking free.

While he lay on the bed, Derek brought him over a strong mug of fennel tea—he'd made some for everyone, and informed Erica and Jackson that they would be having at least three mugs full.

As Jackson drank his tea, Derek joined him on the bed. He pulled him into his lap, and Jackson yelped as he tea sloshed around in the cup, threatening to scorch him. "Hot tea, hot tea!" He cried.

Derek's lips trailed along the back of Jackson's neck. "Sorry," He mumbled.

"Should be," Jackson retorted, settling back against Derek. He sipped he tea contentedly, while Derek began to run his fingers over Jackson's body, tracing them down his arm and up over his chest and neck and across his shoulders, kissing his ears and temple and jaw. It was as if he was trying to account for every part of Jackson, touching every piece of him to ensure it was all safe, all still here with him.

"How are you doing?" Derek asked, mouth kissing a slow line up his neck. "How do you feel?"

"Mmm, better now," Jackson mumbled. "Still a little shaky."

Derek nodded. "Drink your tea, it'll help." Jackson took another sip of the hot tea as instructed. Derek watched him cautiously, looking Jackson up and down. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked quietly.

"Talk about what?"

"What happened," Derek said. "Having that witch bound to you... getting exorcised."

Jackson shrugged, and took another sip of his tea. It had been barely a few hours ago he'd had Nan bound to him, but it already felt as if it had happened in another lifetime. The pain she'd inflicted, the tearing and ripping feeling of having her yanked out of him, it barely seemed real. Maybe he was in shock. He didn't really care. The truth was, he felt alright. Better than alright, even. He was still aching, physically, still healing... but he felt good.

Jackson looked up at Derek, who had fixed him with a worried stare. "Honestly, I feel sort of... light," He admitted. "Like a weight's been lifted, you know?"

"Good," Derek said. "That's good."

Jackson nodded. "Yeah, it is. And," He added. "I got to beat the crap out of Matt. It was very cathartic."

Derek smiled at him, and kissed his temple again. He didn't ask what he meant, or how he had been able to beat up Matt. Which was good, because Jackson wasn't sure he would have been able to explain.

Erica, Boyd and Isaac turned on the television, and eventually Derek and Jackson drifted over to watch as well, lying down together on the love-seat. Nothing in particular was being watched—Boyd flicked around from reality television to old movies to sports before settling on some science fiction show Isaac was excited about. Erica fell asleep during the opening credits, and once again Derek did not stop asking questions, prompting Isaac to chuck at least three pillows in his direction. Jackson laughed quietly, his eyes drifting open and shut again. He wanted to stay awake, but he was so tired.

Jackson wasn't sure what time it was. The flickering screen cast the only light in the dark apartment, and as they watched and talked, Jackson had the strange sense of  _smallness._ It was an inexplicable feeling that not even Jackson understood, but at that moment—watching television with his pack in the dark—the world felt very small to him.

It wasn't a bad feeling, on the contrary, there was comfort in it. This was his world, right here, in this room. It wasn't extravagant, it wasn't glamourous... but it was his, and it was good.

Jackson didn't think he would ever want anymore than this.

* * *

When Jackson woke up, the loft was filled with the bright light of morning. Derek was still asleep beside him, and the rest of the pack was still upstairs in Isaac's room. Squinting against the harsh light, Jackson dug through the pile of clothes on the floor for his cellphone, which told him it was past noon. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in so late.

At a creaking noise from the stairs, Jackson looked up and found Erica descending. She was wearing a tank top and a pair of boxers that Jackson assumed she'd borrowed from Isaac. He grabbed his own shirt from the floor and pulled it on over his head.

"Hey," Erica said, stepping off the stairs. She cast a cursory glance at Derek's sleeping figure, and smirked. "Morning."

Jackson nodded. "Morning," He returned, sliding off the bed. "The others still sleeping?"

"Like the dead," Erica said. She yawned, stretching her arms out and arching her back. "Want to make breakfast?"

Jackson shrugged. "Sure,"

Erica walked over to the kitchen. "You know where Derek keeps things, right?"

"More or less,"

"Know if he has any pancake mix?"

Jackson shook his head. "He makes them from scratch,"

Erica scoffed. "Of course he does,"

Jackson wound up looking up a pancake recipe on his phone, and together they went about making them. Jackson got the ingredients out from the cupboards and handed them to Erica, and she mixed them into batter while Jackson heated up the stove, and put on some bacon he found in Derek's fridge.

"So..." Jackson said, watching the bacon sizzle in the skillet. "How're you doing?"

Erica rolled her eyes. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?" She muttered, while pouring a glob of batter into her frying pan. When she pulled it away, the battle dribbled out of the bowl, leaving a line of pancake mix across the stove. "Ugh."

"You know why," Jackson told her.

"Well, then how are  _you?_ " She shot back at him.

Jackson opened his mouth to tell her he was fine, but then reconsidered. He thought about it for a moment. "It was... weird, you know?" He said. "I mean... I feel pretty good now. Great, actually. But while it was happening... I don't think I've ever been so freaked out. It was crazy."

Erica nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know what you mean. It's great, finally having killed those bitches... but I can't stop thinking about what it was like, having her bound to me."

"When they were doing the exorcising, did it feel... did it feel like they were taking something from you?"

"God,  _yes,_ " Erica replied, her eyes wide. "I thought they were killing me, it felt like they were trying to pull out my organs or something."

Jackson nodded, relieved it wasn't just him. "Me too," He said. "I couldn't stop feeling like they were tearing me open, trying to take something from inside me. Something that I needed."

"It's completely fucked up," She said, flipping a pancake. "I'm just relieved it worked."

"Me too," Jackson agreed. He took the bacon off the pan, and put it a plastic container on the counter, then dropped more bacon onto the sizzling pan. "I don't know how much longer I could've lived like that..." He trailed off, as it occurred to him that he had actually passed the point of being able to live like that.

Erica seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Yeah, I know you were having a particularly tough time there," She said quietly. "But you seem like you're doing better now,"

"Especially now that they're all gone, yeah," Jackson said. "Definitely doing better,"

Erica smiled at him, and punched him on the arm. "Good," She said. "Because the pack wouldn't be the same without you."

Jackson raised his eyebrows. "Seriously?"

"Yes seriously. Without you, who would we have to boss around?"

Jackson rolled his eyes. "Bite me, Erica."

Erica flashed him a toothy grin. "If you ask nicely,"

They continued making breakfast and chatting idly, about their plans for the summer—apparently they would both be attending summer school—and things like movies and television. Erica had a lot of issues with  _Game of Thrones,_  over things Jackson had never even considered. The show was apparently a lot more sexist than he'd realized.

Derek was the first of the others to wake up, and he took over making the pancakes, as Erica was making a mess of the stove, getting batter everywhere and creating misshapen pancakes. Erica, scoffing that everyone was a critic, spent the rest of the time sitting on the counter and telling Jackson when he was burning the bacon.

When everything was ready, they called down Boyd and Isaac. After waiting for them for a solid ten minutes, Derek disappeared upstairs, and come back down with a still sleeping Isaac over his shoulder, and a grumpy looking Boyd trailing behind him.

"Aww, you couldn't have let him sleep?" Erica asked, as Derek arranged Isaac on the couch, where he promptly fell over and continued his slumber.

"What are you talking about?" Derek asked. "He  _is_ sleeping."

"Yeah, I guess pouring cold water on someone doesn't always work," Boyd grumbled, glaring at Derek in a way that made Jackson pretty sure that it hadworked on him.

Jackson glanced at Isaac. "How do you sleep through someone pouring cold water on you?" He asked.

"Skills," Isaac replied. "Major skills."

"Isaac, if you're awake, come eat something." Derek told him.

"Nope, not awake," Isaac said, turning over on the couch. "Very much asleep."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Fine, we're eating without you."

After he'd had a bit of coffee, Boyd dropped the death glare and perked up to his usual self. "So, what's everyone's plans for the day?" He asked, helping himself to another pancake.

"I think we should have a party," Erica said. "You know,  _'ding-dong the witches are dead.'_ We should celebrate. _"_

"I agree," Isaac said, wandering over from the couch and pouring himself a cup of coffee. Since all the stools were taken, he leaned against the counter while he drank it. "We could tell people it's an end of exam thing."

"That could be fun," Jackson agreed. He looked at Derek. "What do you think?"

"Why me?"

"Because the loft would be the best place to have it,"

Derek scowled. "No," He said.

"Oh, come on!" Erica cried. "Don't you ever get sick of just sitting around brooding all the time? Don't you ever just want to cut lose?"

"No,"

"We could have it at my house," Boyd volunteered. "I mean, my parents will be there, but..."

Erica scrunched up her face. "Gross, no way." She said. Boyd looked offended. "I mean, I love your parents, but any parental presence is an instant party killer."

"You're not having a party here," Derek growled. "The last thing I need is a bunch of drunken teenagers wandering around, touching things, messing everything up.."

Jackson leaned in close, and put his hand over Derek's. "Please, Derek?" He asked quietly. "I could really use some fun, after everything that's happened."

Derek glared at him, and Jackson saw his fist tighten on his fork, bending it slightly. "That is not fair," He said through gritted teeth.  _"Fine,"_ He snapped, tossing down his fork in anger. It clattered against the counter, bent over at the middle. "Have your damn party."

Isaac and Erica high-fived, and Boyd cheered and pumped his fist. Jackson just smiled, and pressed a quick kiss against the corner of Derek's mouth. "Thank you," He said quietly.

"Yeah, yeah..." Derek mumbled, rolling his eyes. "If you really want to thank me, get me a new fork."


	30. Bashed

* * *

"First I'm gonna make it,  
Then I'm gonna break it till it falls apart.  
Hating all the faking,  
And shaking while I'm breaking your brittle heart."  
—Echo and the Bunnymen,  _Bring on the Dancing Horses_

* * *

Jackson was actually a bit surprised by just how many people showed up at their party. Maybe it had something to do with Erica being in charge of invitations. Maybe it was just the end of school fever that left everyone eager for any excuse to cut lose and lose themselves amongst pulsing bodies and blasting music.

Whatever it was, it seemed like the whole grade had shown up.

Boyd and Isaac had gone out and gotten some party lights, and they'd turned the inside of the loft into a rave like atmosphere, with rainbow coloured lights moving around the dancing bodies and bright strobes flashing wildly.

Jackson smiled to himself as he looked around the loft, watching Erica, Boyd and Isaac dancing with wild abandon along with the crowd. All around people laughing, getting drunk, chatting with their friends and making out with people they would never speak to again. He had missed this, missed parties, and laughter, and drunken stupidity. Missed being a teenager.

Someone bumped into him, snapping him out of his thoughts. He looked around the loft again, realizing he hadn't seen Derek since everyone had started to show up. Where had he gone?

Turning around, Jackson found himself standing face to face with Lydia. She had a determined look on her face that made Jackson want to run.

"Hello, Jackson," She said. "We need to talk."

* * *

Derek stood on the roof, listening to the sound of the wind and the traffic from below, trying not to hear the music and chatter happening under his feet. He should never have agreed to this, letting all these kids into his home. He hoped Jackson and the others knew that whatever mess was made,  _they_ would be the ones cleaning it up, with no help from him.

When he heard someone at the roof's entrance, his back stiffened, but he did not turn around. "What are you doing out here?"

Allison closed the door quietly behind her. "Looking for you," She replied.

He turned around now, and saw Allison had one hand in her bag. Likely on a weapon. "Well you found me," He said. "What do you want?"

"To talk,"

Derek smirked. "Then what do you need that for?" He nodded to her handbag.

Unphased, Allison pulled her hand out of the bag, revealing a small crossbow. "Insurance," She said, aiming the bow at him.

Derek sighed, and regarded her warily. He was tired of having conversations with Allison Argent that involved an arrow pointed at his heart. "Is this about your mother?" He asked.

Anger flashed across her face. She gritted her teeth. "No," She said, her voice straining to keep calm. "It's about Jackson."

Derek hid the surprise he felt, letting nothing show on his face. "Jackson?" He repeated. "What about him?"

Allison's face was grim. "You're going to break things off with him,"

* * *

Jackson and Lydia went out to the hallway to talk. It was quieter out there, and considerably less crowded.

Jackson felt a nervous pit growing in his stomach, and he stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans and stared at his shoes, and the floor, and a bunch of other things that weren't Lydia. "So... what do you want to talk about?"

"Oh, you know, just wanted to catch up," Lydia said airily. "School, plans for the summer, the fact that you cheated on me with Derek Hale, that sort of thing."

Jackson cringed. He had been afraid of this. And sort of hoping he would never have to deal with it. "Did Allison tell you?"

"No, she didn't want to hurt me," Lydia said. "Isbel on the other hand, could not have cared less about hurting me. She told me everything."

Jackson forced himself to look up, look Lydia in the eye. "Lydia, I'm so sorry," He said. "I never meant to... it just happened."

The expression on Lydia's face told him this was the wrong thing to say. "'Just happened?'" She repeated, anger growing in her voice. "How the hell does something like that just happen?! You were fighting one day and you what, fell on his lips?"

"Uh, sort of?"

Lydia shook her head. "Jackson, for once I just wish someone would tell me the freaking truth."

Jackson sighed. "Lydia, I don't know what to tell you. I was... I was miserable. And nothing helped, no one understood. And I know you tried, I know you wanted to be there for me... I just... I don't know. It wasn't what I needed."

"And Derek was?"

"I think so... or at least, the closest thing to it. It's just, around him, I never had to try and get better. I could just... be. Everyone else, even you, you wanted me to move on, to put what happened behind me and live my life again. And I couldn't. With Derek, I didn't have to. With him, whatever I am, even if it's fucked up... it's enough."

Lydia shook her head. "That's not fair, Jackson." She said. "It's not fair. You never gave me a chance, never told what you needed—"

"I know, I know, and I'm sorry Lydia, I am," Jackson stepped forward and grabbed her hand, but she shoved him off. "Lydia, none of it was your fault. You did everything you could."

Lydia put her face in her hands. "God, I just—it wasn't supposed to be like this. None of this was supposed to happen."

Slowly, Jackson reached out and put a hand lightly on her shoulder. This time she did not push him away. "I know," He said quietly. "I know."

Lydia took her hands away and stared up at him. "Are you okay?" She asked.

"What?" Jackson asked, taken aback.

"I'm still mad at you," Lydia said. "But... are you okay? Are you still..." She trailed off. "Isbel told us about... that you were turning back into...?"

Jackson swallowed. "I'm fine," He said. "No scales."

Lydia nodded. "Good..." She said. She was quiet for a moment. "Do you love him?"

Jackson licked his lips. "Yeah," He said. "I do."

* * *

For a second, Derek thought he had misheard her. "I'm going to  _what?_ "

"What you're doing with Jackson, you're going to end it," Allison said evenly.

Derek stepped towards her, and Allison raised the crossbow to point at his throat. "And why the hell would I do that?"

"Because you're ruining his life, that's why," She replied. He could see her fingers tensing on the trigger.

Derek blinked. "What?"

"You can't be so blind you haven't noticed," Allison said, raising an eyebrow at him. "Come on, Derek. He failed two classes, he hasn't spent any time with his friends in months, his parents never have any idea where he is, because he's always here. He's ignoring everything and everyone that isn't  _you._ You can't seriously believe that's healthy, hiding away from the world like that?"

"He's not  _hiding,_ " Derek snapped. He fought the urge to rip the crossbow from her hands and snap it in half.

"You're hiding together," Allison said. "How long is this going to on for, Derek? What about when he doesn't bother going to summer school, and has to repeat a year? What about when his friends stop waiting for him to come around, and he loses them forever? Will you admit you're hiding then? What will it take?"

Derek turned away from her, trying not consider what she was saying. She hadn't said anything that wasn't true, he knew that. Jackson couldn't have cared less about school, his parents were nothing but burdens to be ignored—"You don't know what you're talking about."

He heard Allison step forward, and he turned back around to face her. "I do," She said. "When we were in the mindscape together, Isbel told me that Jackson was turning back into the kanima. And she told me why. Because he refuses to deal with his problems, because he pushes them away and hides from them," Allison looked at him, and although her voice was calm, he could see hate and disgust in her eyes. "And she told me you make it worse. When he has you, he doesn't have to deal with his life. He can run away, because you give him somewhere to run to."

Derek ground his teeth, refusing to see the point he knew she had. He wasn't blind, or stupid. He knew that Jackson had things he wasn't dealing with, and Derek had always tried to make sure he knew he would be there for him, if he needed him. But maybe him being there for him wasn't what he needed? What if he needed his family, needed his friends... needed to live his life again.

"I could talk to him," Derek said, speaking more to himself than Allison. "I could tell him he—we—need to change."

"Would he listen?"

Derek knew the answer that question. No, of course not. Jackson was stubborn, especially in his refusal to admit there was something wrong with him. He bottled things up until he reached a breaking point, and was  _forced_ to confront it. And Derek was always there to help him pick up the pieces and put himself back together, so he could start the whole thing all over again.

What would it take, to get him to change? Something drastic, Derek was sure. Nothing less than brute force could get Jackson to take a good long look at himself and his life and decide he needed to do something. But did Derek really have to break up with him?

Their relationship wasn't perfect, he knew that. Knew that he encouraged Jackson to ignore the messes he'd made, and hide away from his problems... but it wasn't all bad. They had something good between them, Derek knew that. Could he really just give that up?

"You know I'm right," Allison said quietly. "And if you care about him at all, you'll end it. Let him go, Derek. He'll be better off without you."

Allison lowered her weapon, and turned and walked back through the door, leaving Derek alone on the roof.

* * *

It wasn't until around midnight when it occurred to Jackson to check the roof. There he found Derek sitting, and staring out at the night sky.

"There you are," Jackson said, sitting down next to him. "Have you been up here the whole time?"

Not looking at him, Derek nodded. He said nothing.

"Is everything alright?"

"When was the last time you talked to your parents?" Derek asked. He turned sharply to Jackson, and raised his eyebrows. "Hmm?"

"Uh, I don't know, I was home a few days ago..."

Derek shook his head. "You can't do that, Jackson, you can't just cut them out of your life like that."

"Why not?"

" _Because,"_ Derek snapped. "They're your family, Jackson."

Jackson shrugged, and Derek sighed. "Jackson... we can't do this anymore,"

Jackson blinked. "Can't do what anymore?"

" _This,"_ Derek gestured between them. "You and me. It's... we're over."

Jackson's heart skipped a beat. With difficulty, he laughed. "Come on, yeah right," He said.

Derek stood up and walked over to the edge of the roof. A moment passed before he said "I'm serious, Jackson,"

"What? Why?" Jackson asked, standing up as well. His heart had begun to beat uncomfortably fast in his chest. Derek couldn't be serious. This was obviously some kind of weird, sick joke. This wasn't happening.

Derek shook his head. "This isn't good for you, Jackson. I'm not good for you..."

"Yes, you are!" Jackson cried, stepping forward. A painful lump had appeared in his throat, choking him. "You're the best the for me, the only thing."

"I'm not the only thing for you," Derek growled. "There's a whole world out there, a world you're ignoring, because of me. Well, now you can't."

What had he done to bring this on? Jackson's mind raced, trying to think of what he'd said or done the last time they'd spoken. Nothing jumped out at him, he couldn't recall doing or saying anything that would warrant this.

Tears were forming in his eyes. "Derek, please, don't do this! You can't do this..." He swallowed, trying to get a grip on himself. "I know you don't want to do this."

Derek turned around. "Yes, I do," He said. "I don't want to do this anymore. You're too much, too many issues. You need to go deal with them, and you need to do it without me. I'm done talking about this, alright?" Derek stalked past him, making his way to the roof's entrance. "Get out of my loft, go home to your family, Jackson,"

The tears were falling freely from his eyes now, and he choked on them as he spoke. "Derek,  _you're_ my family, please—"

Standing the in the doorway, Derek paused. He glanced back over his shoulder. "I don't have any family," He said. Then he left, letting the door slam shut behind him.


	31. Confession

* * *

"And when there's nowhere else to run  
Is there room for one more son  
These changes ain't changing me  
The cold-hearted boy I used to be."  
—The Killers, _All These Things That I've Done_

* * *

It was close to two in the morning by the time Jackson got home, parking crookedly in his driveway and stumbling out the car as if he were drunk. He wished he was, would have given anything for a drink just then. Something to burn his throat and drip through him like poison, hollowing him out until there's nothing left. No more pain, no more misery. Nothing.

The house lights were on, and when Jackson crashed through the front door both his parents were standing there waiting for him. David and Jessica Whittemore were both in their pajamas, so Jackson figured they had woken up and come downstairs when they'd heard the car.

"Jackson, where the hell have you been?" His father demanded.

"You can't keep doing this to us, Jackson," His mother insisted, her eyes red and teary. "Disappearing for days at a time—where were you?"

Jackson put his hands in his pockets, and looked back and forth between his parents, these people who barely knew him. Who would hate him if they knew the truth about him, hate him if they had a single clue. And suddenly, that was exactly what he wanted.

"I was with Derek Hale,"

Jessica Whittemore's brow furrowed, and she looked questioningly at her husband, not recognizing the name. David knew who he was, Jackson could see it in his eyes. "What?"

"I was with Derek Hale," Jackson repeated in a calm voice. "I've been fucking him, for what, about four months now?" Jackson grinned, although he'd never felt less like like smiling. "Actually, most of the time, he's been fucking me. But that's beside the point."

Both of his parents wore identical expressions of pale horror. "Jackson... what?" His mother asked, her voice quiet. "You've been... what?"

"Jackson, I don't know what game you think you're playing here, but it stops now." His father glared at him, his jaw tight. "Tell us where you've really been. Tell us the truth."

"I told you," Jackson said, the smile slipping off his face. "I was with Derek. I've always been with Derek. Don't worry, it's over now. He decided he didn't want me anymore."

Neither of his parents had anything to say to that, so Jackson continued. "Do you guys really want the truth? Because really, it is a hell of a story..."

"Yes, Jackson, we want the truth," This from David.

Jessica was more hesitant. "Maybe we should go into the kitchen to talk..." She said. "Put on some tea,"

"No, I'm fine here," Jackson said. "Alright, the truth... where to begin. Well, I've already mentioned I've been fucking Derek... you should probably know that he's a werewolf." His parents exchanged looks at this, obviously worried that Jackson had lost it. "And last fall he bit me—at my request of course, so now I'm a werewolf too."

His parents stared at him, his mother looking worried and his father furious. "Jackson, what the hell—"

"Wait, wait," Jackson interrupted, holding up his hands. "I haven't told you the best part of the story yet. See, before I turned into a werewolf, something went wrong, and I turned into a lizard instead— hilarious right? It's called a kanima, for the record. Do you remember that kid that drowned a few months ago, Matt Daehler? Well, he was was the kanima's master—that is, my master. Yeah he had complete control over me, and made me murder a whole bunch of people. Oh, and he was fucking me too, except I didn't have say in that, but what are you gonna do right?"

Silence from both parents. Jackson couldn't have named their expressions even if he'd tried. Something like horror, but more nauseous.

His mother was the first to speak. "Jackson," She said, choking on his name. "What are you talking about?! Matt was what—"

"It's not complicated, Mom," Jackson said. "I was a homicidal lizard forced to do the bidding of an angry teenage boy, who was fucking me against my will, and now I'm a werewolf. Here, I'll show you—" Jackson broke off, and concentrated. He pushed himself into a full shift, with hair covering his face, eyes glowing, fangs, claws, everything. He watched his parents face's drain of what little colour they'd possessed.

Jessica Whittemore's eyes were wide with terror. "Jackson..."

Jackson growled at her, baring his fangs and causing both his parents to step back, grabbing at each other.

Satisfied, Jackson let himself return to normal. "I'll be in my room, if you need me," He said, storming past them and up the stairs.

* * *

For an hour Jackson lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to block out the sounds of his parents shouting. They'd been yelling at each other non stop, screaming themselves horse about Jackson. He wasn't listening to the specifics of what they were saying, but he was pretty sure he got the gist—he had horrified them.

Good, that was what he wanted. Let them be terrified of him, let them be disgusted by what he was, and what he'd done and what had been done to him. Let them be unable to look at him without flinching, if they ever deigned to look upon him again.

Jackson had always known that one day, his parents would stop loving him. He'd known since he was six years old, and they'd told him he wasn't really theirs. That he belonged to some other people, some dead people he would never know.

They had tried, his parents had, Jackson would give them that. They had fought the good fight, put up with more than most people would. But one day they would have grown sick of it, and cast him out like last week's trash. All he'd done today was expedite the process.

As a child, he had feared this day more than anything. The day when his parents came up to his room, as he was sure they would any moment, and told him they didn't want him anymore. That he had to go back to wherever he'd come from. At his darkest moments, he'd imagined them digging a small hole for him next to the graves of his real parents, the faceless corpses that he truly belonged to, and burying him alive so that he could be with them.

Now he just expected to be kicked out. He supposed he should start packing. It wouldn't be too bad, he would just stay with Derek...

It was an excruciating punch to the gut when he remembered, of course, that he could not stay with Derek. That Derek too had abandoned him, thrown him away with some bullshit sentiment about how he would be better off. But Jackson knew what had really happened, and more than anything he hated himself for having forgotten what he had always known. Love was temporary, of course it was. Derek proved that, proved that Jackson had been right all these years, right to hide from love and refuse to give it others. Love was nothing but a destructive force that convinced you that you needed somebody, convinced somebody else they needed you. Until, one day, they didn't. And then you were alone again.

Jackson never should have let his guard down, never should have let Derek in like he had. He'd been asking for this, really. Asking for this pain and this heartache. He'd invited it in, and told it to make itself at home.

He'd been so stupid. And now he was paying the price of that stupidity.

It was tall one. Jackson felt like he was losing his mind. He tried to comprehend how the next little while would go. He wouldn't see Derek, wouldn't be able to call him if he needed to hear his voice. He couldn't touch him, couldn't fall asleep in his arms. Already he missed it, missed it like he hadn't known it was possible to miss someone. It fell like someone had taken something from him, something vital. Something he needed in order to survive.

It killed him that this loss wasn't represented physically. It seemed so unfair that from the outside he would appear whole, when really there should have been a massive hunk of him missing, a gaping wound that bled everywhere and on everything, colouring his world red. He should have been short a limb. That was how it felt.

Hearing a quiet rapping on his door, Jackson took his hands off his ears, and sat up on his bed. "Yeah?"

The door creaked slowly open, and his mother stuck her head into the room. Her eyes were puffy and red, but free of tears. "Can we come in?" Jackson shrugged, and she seemed to take that to mean yes. Both parents filed into the room, and his mother took a seat on the edge of bed, while his father stood stoically behind her. Jackson was surprised to see he looked like he'd been crying, too.

"Jackson, I... we're so sorry," She said. "We had no idea—"

"We knew there something going on with you, in the fall, but we had no idea what it was. Or the extent of it..." His father added.

Jackson saw his mothers lip tremble. "But we should have! We should have done something, should have helped you..."

He assumed they were talking about him being the kanima. "What could you have done? I didn't even know what was happening."

Tears were forming in his mothers eyes, and she shook her head. "It doesn't matter! Someone was hurting you, and we had no idea—we should have, we should have." She reached forward and wrapped her arms around him, sobbing against his shoulder. "My baby, my poor baby, I'm so sorry..."

Jackson blinked a few times, feeling numb. They were talking about Matt, about what he'd done to him. Jackson had told them he was werewolf, that he used to be a homicidal lizard... and that's what they'd focused on? Didn't they care about the other things?

Jackson's father looked grim. "He's definitely dead, right?" He asked. "You're sure of it?"

Jackson nodded. His mother lifted her head slightly, and looked him in the eye. "Did you do it?" She whispered. "No one would blame you, honey, if you did."

He shook his head. "No," He said quietly. "Gerard Argent did. I... I saw."

David Whittemore's brow furrowed. "Gerard Argent? What's he got to do with this?"

"He's a werewolf hunter," Jackson explained. "His whole family is. He has cancer, so he killed Matt, and took over control of me. Used me to force Derek to give him the bite."

Head spinning, Mr. Whittemore sat down on his son's bed, next to his wife. "The Argents are werewolf hunters?" He asked. Jackson nodded. "Right... because there are werewolves, of course. And Derek Hale is one... and so are you... who else?"

"David, this isn't the time, we can talk about all that later," Mrs. Whittemore said. She hadn't let go of Jackson, sitting with one arm wound tightly over Jackson's shoulder. She stroked his face, just like she'd always done when he was little, and she'd comforted him after a nightmare.

"No, it's okay..." Jackson said. He was surprised by their reaction, surprised that they wanted to know about this. He'd assumed they'd just be too horrified to ever talk to him again. "Scott McCall is one," He said. "He was turned first."

"And then you?" His mother asked.

"Yeah. But I took a detour, before I actually turned." Jackson licked his lips. "Then Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd."

The brow of his fathers forehead creased. "Erica Reyes? Jesus christ, I've been to their house for dinner... do her parents know?"

Jackson shrugged. "Probably," He said. "It'd be hard not to notice a transformation like hers."

His mother regarded him. "And you were all... turned, by Derek Hale? Who was wanted for murder by the police a little while ago?" Evidently, Jackson's father had filled his wife in on who Derek was.

"All of us but Scott. He was turned by Derek's uncle, Peter."

"And who turned Derek and Peter?" Mr. Whittemore asked.

"No one, they were born that way. But," Jackson added. "The only one who can turn someone is an alpha. Derek's sister Laura was the alpha, but Peter killed her and he became the alpha. But then Derek killed him, so now he's the alpha. But Peter's alive again, unfortunately."

Mrs. Whittemore sniffed, and wiped her eyes. "And you've been dating Derek? This... wanted murderer?"

Mr. Whittemore scoffed. "I don't believe dating was the word he used, dear,"

"We're not... dating anymore," Jackson said, his voice sounding hollow. "He... broke up with me,"

Jackson felt his mother squeeze his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Jackson. He meant a lot to you, I guess?"

Jackson nodded. He couldn't but notice that despite her sympathetic words, there was still a note of relief in his mothers eyes. "For the record, Derek was exonerated of all those murder chargers," Jackson said. "And Peter needed to be killed, he was murdering people all over town. Those murders they said Kate Argent committed? It was Peter,"

His mother's eyes went wide. "So Kate Argent was innocent?"

"What? No, she really did burn down the Hale house. That part was true,"

"Oh,"

"I've got a headache," Jackson's father mumbled.

His mother brushed a stray piece of hair off his forehead, and held his face in his hands. "Jackson, sweetheart, you know we're here for you, right? We can get through this, together. All of it. We love you, no matter what."

His father nodded, and put a hand on her shoulder. "And it doesn't matter to us that you're... a werewolf. It'll take some getting used to, of course..."

Jackson's throat felt like it was swelling. They weren't supposed to do this, weren't supposed to accept him, or love him. This wasn't right. It couldn't be. Not after he'd told them everything, about being a werewolf, and a murderer... about Derek... about Matt. "I... I thought you guys would be disgusted by me," He said quietly. Both parents looked shocked. "I thought you wouldn't love me anymore."

"Jackson!" His mother exclaimed, wrapping her arms back over him. "How could you ever think we'd stop loving you? It's impossible."

"Why would be disgusted by you?" Asked his father.

"Because... I'm a killer. I killed innocent people."

"No, from what you've told us, the murderer is that Matt," Mr. Whittemore spat. "You were defenceless, and he took advantage of that. He's the disgusting one, Jackson. Not you. You did nothing wrong."

Jackson could feel his tear duct burning. "Yes, I did. I did what he wanted me to do. Everything he wanted... I couldn't help it... but I did it..."

Mr. Whittemore put his arms around Jackson too, and squeezed him fiercely. "None of it was your fault, Jackson? Do you hear me? Not a single thing."

Wrapped in the arms of both of his parents, Jackson began to cry. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," He sobbed. "I never meant for any of it to happen—I didn't want—and Matt, he, he..." Jackson broke off, unable to speak through the tears. For the first time, he felt the unfairness of what had happened to him. The cruelty of it, of what he'd been made to endure. He hadn't deserved it, hadn't deserved any of it.

His mother patted his head, and whispered that it would be alright. That they would be there for him, and would help him through this. His father repeated that he loved him, that they both did. That he would not have to go through this alone.

And Jackson believed them. For so long he had avoided dwelling on what had happened to him, on what Matt had done to him. All of it. He had hated himself for it, and hated Matt, but he had pushed it all down, looked for distractions everywhere he could find them. What would happen to him, if he finally brought it all up, actually tried to work through it? It would hurt, he knew it would... already did, in fact.

Could he even handle it? Jackson didn't know. Part of felt like he wasn't strong enough... but maybe, with some help, he could learn to be.


	32. Summer

* * *

“The things we lose  
have a way of coming back to us,  
in the end.  
If not always in the way we expect.”  
—Luna Lovegood, _Harry Potter and the Order of the Pheonix_

* * *

 Jackson stared down at the worksheet in front of him, the lines blurring on the page as his eyes unfocused. He'd been staring his work for the last twenty minutes, hoping some kind of answer would magically come to him. So far he had no such luck.

Next to him, Erica—his lab partner—tapped him on the shoulder. “Alright, I've got it all figured out,” She said, her eyes glinting. “Here's what we do—you go talk to Harris, distract him. Then I'll slip out of the classroom and pull the fire alarm. Bam, we get out of class.” She grinned, revelling in the genius of her plan.

Jackson frowned. “Why do I have to be the one who distracts Harris?”

“Because he has like, a thing for you,” Erica said, her tone making it clear that this should have been obvious.

Jackson pulled a face. “Gross, he does not have a _thing_ for me!”

Erica raised her eyebrows. “Seriously? He's always like 'Jackson, are you alright today? Do you need any help with your homework, Jackson? How are you feeling? Can I give you a back massage—'" 

Jackson smacked her arm, trying to shut up her. He glanced at the clock on the wall behind them, and rolled his eyes. “Lunch is in ten minutes, forget it,” He said.

Looking surprised, Erica dug around in her bag for her cellphone to check the time, as if she didn't trust the school's clock to accurately represent when they would be free. “Shit, you're right. Well, next period then.”

The next ten minutes dragged by slowly and unproductively. Eventually the bell rang, and Erica and Jackson were the first two people out the door, having packed up five minutes early in anticipation. They were quickly followed by Isaac, who streaked out of the door still shoving his papers into his bag.

“God, summer school is torture,” Erica moaned, as they headed to the cafeteria. “How long have we been doing this for? It seems like forever,”

“Three weeks and a day,” Jackson said. “Four more days left,”

“So, basically forever,” Isaac commented.

Jackson nodded. “Basically,”

The last three weeks had not been easy for Jackson. On top of managing summer school, with the help of his parents he was finally trying to work through what had happened to him. Turning into the kanima, being forced to kill innocent people... and being raped by Matt. Jackson wasn't entirely sure how it was going—every conversation ended with him (and his parents) in tears, him feeling ashamed and embarrassed and ridiculous. But afterwards, after the crying and the gut wrenching pain of bringing up things he'd tried so hard to forget... he still felt like shit.

Still, he was trying, and he grateful to his parents for being there for him. No one matter what he told them, or what excruciating detail he revealed, they always hugged him afterwards and told him they loved him, and they proud of him for being so brave. And though he'd never felt less brave, it made him feel better to hear them say it. To know that they didn't think any less of him, and still loved him just the same.

It was strange to realize how much Jackson had been blaming himself for what had happened. He'd been blaming Matt too, of course... but at the same time, there was a large part of him that had been holding himself responsible, too. Thinking that it was his fault he had turned into the kanima, and that what Matt had done to him was something he deserved, something the universe owed him because of the way he'd been.

It was difficult to change that way of thinking, but he was trying. And every day it got just a bit easier to believe his parents when they told him that he had _done nothing_ to deserve what had happened. That it was _Matt_ who was sick and disturbed, Matt who had been _wrong_  

Yeah, it was a slow process. And he didn't quite feel better yet, but more and more Jackson was noticing that he no longer felt afraid. He was no longer afraid of Matt coming back to get him, no longer afraid that someone would find out what had happened and that it would be the end of the world, and most importantly he was no longer afraid of himself. Not just because the witches were gone and his scales had vanished. No, it was more than that. When he'd opened up to his parents, let them in on everything he was thinking and feeling, all his fears and worries and the horrors he'd lives through, something inside of him... vanished. That twisted, depraved something that had been locked inside of him for years, telling him to hide from himself, hide from his loved ones.... it was gone.

And for all of the crying, all of the misery he was dredging up, for the first time in his life, Jackson finally felt free.

But through that freedom, through the relief of coming clean about all that had happened... he still felt the sense of something missing.

It had been three weeks since Derek had ended things with him, and three weeks later Jackson still wasn't used to it. There were times he would find himself drafting text messages to Derek that he knew he couldn't send, or holding imaginary conversations with him in his head. 

His parents tried to help, but Jackson knew they were secretly relieved that Derek had done what he had. Derek was too old for him, a former wanted murderer... he couldn't have been good for Jackson.

But Jackson knew otherwise. For the past few months, Derek had been the only thing keeping him together. He had been there for him when Jackson had felt as if he had no one else, there for him through the lowest point of his life. He had never given up on him, never made him feel like he was less than he should have been.

Jackson missed him. He missed his small, barely-there smile and the way he smelled, he missed the scratchy feeling of his beard as they kissed. He missed the sound of his voice, and the way he felt safe in his arms. He missed every fucking thing about him, even the things he'd thought he'd hated. He missed it all, and he missed it every single second.

And he did not know what to do about it. If Derek didn't want him anymore, it wasn't as if he could make him. This had been Derek's decision, and as lost as it left Jackson feeling, he was just going to have to find some way to live with it.

In the cafeteria Erica and Jackson joined Boyd at the table they usually sat at, while Isaac headed to the line to get food. Unlike the three of them, who were in summer school due to having failed classes, Boyd was there to take extra courses, in order to graduate earlier.

“So how was class?” Boyd asked as they all took seats around him.

Erica grabbed the apple off his tray and took a bite of it. “Sucky,” She said. “Science is for nerds. You probably would have liked it, Boyd.”

Boyd shook his head. “I'm just glad you're all attending class like you're supposed to,”

“Yeah, well, cutting is the reason why we failed in the first place, so...” Jackson mumbled, pulling a sandwich out of his bag. His mother had insisted on making his lunch for him for the last few weeks, something she hadn't done since he was 13.

Boyd grinned. “Learning from your mistakes, nice one,” He gave Jackson a cheeky thumbs up, and Jackson rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, we've all come a long way,” Jackson said.

“Sooo, Jackson,” Erica said. “What are you doing after school today?”

“Going to the mall with Danny,” Jackson replied. “He needs new running shoes, and I need a new backpack.”

Erica nodded slowly. “Ah, okay...”

“Why?”

“No reason,” Boyd said. “We were just thinking, that if you didn't have any plans, you'd maybe want to—”

“ _No,”_

Erica rolled her eyes, and took another bite of Boyd's apple. “You don't even know what he was going to say,”

“Yes, I do,” Jackson retorted. “He was _going_ to say that if I hadn't had any plans, then maybe I could have come to training, right?”

Boyd shrugged. “Basically,”

“Well, the answer is _no._ Even if I hadn't had plans—which I do—I still wouldn't go,”

“Oh come on, it's been three weeks,” Erica scoffed. “He didn't kick you out of the pack, Jackson. You're still one of us. When are you going to stop avoiding him?”

Jackson pretended to think for a moment. “Hmm, how about when I can hear his name, and _not_ feel like I want to crawl into a dark pit and die?”

Boyd gave him a sympathetic look, but Erica was unmoved. “That's not going to happen on its own, Jackson. You have to _force_ yourself to get over him.” She punched her hand with her own first. “You have use the sheer force of your own will and beat it out of yourself, because you're stronger than that!”

Jackson shrugged, and took a sip of diet coke. “I'm really not,”

Boyd was side-eyeing Erica, but then turned to Jackson. “While I don't really agree with _beating_ anything out of yourself, I do think you're stronger than you think you are, Jackson.”

“Uh, thanks Boyd,”

“Yeah, thanks Boyd,” Isaac said, appearing at their table with a tray full of food. He sat down next to Jackson and looked around. “What are we thanking Boyd for?”

“For being _so_ good in bed,” Erica responded, batting her eyelashes and leaning against Boyd's shoulder. Jackson snorted, and Boyd ducked his head, his face turning dark red.

“Cool,” Isaac said, nodding. “Nice one, Boyd.”

* * *

After school, Jackson picked Danny up at his house and they headed for the mall.

Two weeks ago, with his parents encouragement, Jackson had finally picked up the phone and called Danny. He had apologized for basically dropping off the face of the earth, and asked if they could hang out some time. To his surprise, Danny had eagerly accepted. Jackson had been expecting him to tell him to fuck off. He was relieved this was not the case.

Over the past two weeks, Danny and Jackson had discussed everything that had happened during the previous year. Apparently, Danny had known much of what had been going on already, and there had surprisingly little for Jackson to fill in. He had already known that Jackson was a werewolf, and had at one point been a lizard called a kanima.

He hadn't known that he'd been controlled by Matt, though he said he had suspected that Matt had been involved with the supernatural in some way. Jackson was still working himself up to telling Danny what Matt had done to him, but he planned to, soon. He needed someone he could talk to that wasn't his parents, and Danny was the only person he trusted enough to tell.

Jackson had filled Danny in on what had been going on with the witches, and told him how they had been tormenting him. He told him about Derek, and the way Derek had dumped him, leaving Jackson feeling abandoned and unloved. Danny, having apparently gone through yet another break up with the same guy, was able to empathize.

Mostly, Jackson felt like an idiot for having cut Danny out of his life the way he had. He hadn't even realized how much he'd missed him, and he was more than grateful to have him back in his life.

“Alright, remember, if I find a pair of shoes I like, you have to force me to get them,” Danny instructed, as they walked through the Beacon Hills mall. Jackson nodded, not needing to question Danny about what he meant. Danny had a problem with indecision, Jackson knew. He'd find something he really liked, and then spend 20 minutes talking himself out of liking them by going over other options, or possible flaws or a thousand other made up variables.

The Beacon Hills mall was relatively small, and only contained two stores that sold shoes. One of them only sold baby shoes, so really they only had one store to look in. It limited their options, but in Danny's case, that was probably a good thing. Too many options, and he'd never make a purchase.

They were about to enter the store when Danny nudged Jackson's arm. “Jackson,” He said, gesturing across the hall. Jackson looked, and found Lydia heading towards them, a shopping bag swinging on her arm.

Lydia smiled as they approached, that tense smile of hers that Jackson knew she'd forced onto her face. “Hello,” She greeted.

Danny smiled at her, and Jackson nodded his head in greeting. “Hey Lydia,” Danny said. “What've you got there?”

“Oh, just some clothes I don't really need,” Lydia said, brushing locks of red hair over her shoulder. “But they do look fabulous on me, _so..._ ” She shrugged.

Danny grinned. “I'm sure they do,” He agreed. Again, Jackson just nodded. Danny glanced at him. “Well, I'm going to head into the store,” He clapped a hand on Jackson's shoulder. “You two talk,”

Jackson gaped at him as he darted into the store. He turned to Lydia, who was staring at him with raised eyebrows. He gave her a weak smile. “Hey,” He said lamely.

“What have you been up to, Jackson?” Lydia asked. “I haven't seen you since the party.”

Jackson ducked his head, feeling a bit nauseous. “I've been doing fine, I guess...” He mumbled. “I've been doing summer school, mostly. That's, you know... fun,”

“Mmm, I can only imagine,” Lydia said. Jackson snorted dryly.

Lydia looked him over, scrutinizing him. She furrowed her brow. “Are you alright?” She asked. “You seem... off,”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Off?” He repeated. “In what way do I seem _off?_ ”

“I don't know...” She pursed her lips. “Sad, somehow. What's wrong? It's not school is it? Because if it's school, you know I can help you with that, you just need to ask.”

Jackson smiled at her. “It's not school... but thank you,” He said. Lydia stared at him, waiting for an answer. “It's nothing, Lydia,” He said. He didn't want to talk to Lydia about Derek. Besides it feeling _really weird,_ it wasn't fair to her. She didn't need to hear him whining over the guy he'd cheated on her with, and dumped her for.

Lydia raised her eyebrows. “Right, as if _that's_ not the most obvious lie I've ever been told,” She said. He opened his mouth to defend the veracity of his lie, but she cut him off. “And I promise you Jackson, I have been told my fair share of obvious lies. I may have mentioned it before, but I am really a little bit sick of them,”

Jackson stared off at the stores behind Lydia as he tried to think of something to dissuade her. He could feel her staring at him, eyes boring into him like pretty green drills. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and felt himself break. “Look it's just... it's about Derek, okay? So I don't think you really want to hear about it...”

Lydia's mouth was a hard line. “Oh,” She said. “That's... okay. You can tell me about it.” Jackson felt his mouth open slightly in surprise. “Did something happen?” She lowered her voice, and stepped in closer. “Did he break up with you?”

Jackson's jaw tightened. Reluctantly, he nodded.

“I'm sorry, Jackson.”

Jackson shrugged, glancing down at his shoes and then off behind Lydia's head again. “Yeah, it's....” He trailed off, not really knowing what to say. He looked back to Lydia, and she nodded. He was surprised to find there was no look of satisfaction on Lydia's face. She looked genuinely sorry.

“Can I ask what happened?”

Jackson sighed. “I swear, I don't even know. One second everything was fine—great, even. And the next... I don't know. He's saying he's not good for me, and he doesn't want to deal with me anymore. It's just, it's confusing and I don't understand. But whatever...”

Lydia reached out, and put a hand on his shoulder. “It's gets easier, over time,” She said. “I mean, maybe over a _lot_ of time, but still, eventually.” She smiled at him.

“Thanks, Lydia,” He said. He knew from discussing it with his parents and Danny that talking about his break up was not going to help him feel better about it. Telling Lydia about it did not help dull the pain, or fill the emptiness. But with her hand on his shoulder, and her reassuring smile and well intentioned advice, Jackson did feel less... alone. Even after all he'd done to her, Lydia was still there for him. He hadn't lost her completely. And there was comfort in that. “You know you were always too good for me, right?”

Lydia nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I know,” She said.

A smile tugged at Jackson's mouth. “Want to help Danny find some shoes?” He asked.

Jackson saw a light sparkle in Lydia's eyes. If there was one thing she loved, it was dressing people. _“Yes_ , _”_ She said.

Together they went into the shoe store, where they found Danny already surrounded by a pile of running shoes, insisting that every single one of them was completely wrong.


	33. Dream

* * *

"Then I heard your voice as clear as day,  
And you told me I should concentrate,  
It was all so strange,  
And so surreal,  
That a ghost should be so practical.  
Only if for a night."  
—Florence And The Machine,  _Only If For A Night_

* * *

The theatre was a nicer than it had once been; no longer dank and dingy, it felt warm and homey. The seats were cushy, the picture was sharp and bright, and Allison had a big tub of buttery popcorn on her lap.

As before, they were the only two in the theatre. They sat side by side watching the movie. It took Allison a little while to recognize what movie they were watching, but eventually it was clear that it was the french film  _Amélie._ _A nice movie, Allison thought._

Isbel seemed to be enjoying it. She watched with her big brown eyes wide and unblinking, mouth open slightly as she absently reached for popcorn from Allison's lap, popping it into her mouth without her eyes ever leaving the screen.

Allison found herself watching Isbel more than she watched the actual film.

Besides her eyes, which were whole and intact, Isbel looked the way Allison had last seen her. The way she must have looked in her humanity; short brown hair, large brown eyes and freckles covering a long straight nose. This was how Allison liked to remember her, even if if hadn't been how she'd known her.

"I do like this Améliemaid," Isbel said softly, "Though I suppose she is no maid, as we've seen," She smirked slightly.

Allison nodded. "Yeah, she's great."

"She has spit and vigour," Isbel added. She was quiet for a moment, and Allison glanced at her. "Our mother used to say that of Abigail. Of course, Abigail's spit always had a cruel streak to it..."

Allison regarded her sadly. "Do you miss them?"

Isbel placed another piece of popcorn in her mouth, and chewed it slowly. "They were a part of me for more than a two centuries," She said. "They were my sisters. Of course I would miss them,"

The word would stung slightly. "Right... if you were really here," Allison said. "If this wasn't just a normal dream,"

Isbel tilted her head to the side. "How do you know this is just a normal dream?" She asked. "Perhaps I'm truly here with you, in a way,"

"You can't be," Allison said. "You're dead, remember?"

Isbel tilted her head to the side, letting her hair fall across her face. "Yes, I suppose I am dead." She smiled, but it slipped away when she saw the look on Allison's face. She straightened up. "Don't fret, Allison Argent. I may be dead now, but I've hardly been alive for 200 years. It is not quite so different."

"Aren't you sad?" Allison asked. "You hardly had a life to live. It's doesn't seem fair,"

Isbel reached out, and put her hand on Allison's. "Whatever life I missed, I robbed myself of," She said quietly. "My own lust for power, my own foolishness and cruelty. I betrayed the person I loved the most, and for that I cursed myself. Remember that, Allison. This is my doing, and no one else's."

Isbel glanced back at the screen, and Allison saw her smile again. "Besides, in life I never had access to such entertainment," She said. "So you see, it's hardly all bad,"

Allison smiled slightly.

They lapsed into silence, Isbel once again watching the screen intently. Allison watched Isbel, and despite her words, she still felt sad. "You would think..." Isbel said slowly. "That she would have better ways to spend her time then helping men fulfill themselves,"

Allison smiled. "She likes helping people, Isbel. It makes her feel good,"

Isbel scoffed. "Well why is it that all the people she's helping happen to be male?" Isbel glanced at her, eyebrows raised. "Hmm?"

"That's not true, she helped her friend Georgette,"

"By manipulating her into a relationship with a man,"

"She helped that woman in her building, Madeleine,"

"By delivering her a letter to trick her into thinking she had been loved by a man,"

"That's still helping her. The man is dead already,"

Isbel pursed her lips. "I suppose," She conceded. "I do like how she's endeavouring to drive the one man insane. That's an act of charity I can stand behind,"

Allison laughed and shook her head. "Of course you would," She said.

Isbel shrugged once more, and grabbed another handful of popcorn.

* * *

When Allison awoke in the morning, she kept her eyes closed for along time. She could still see the image of Isbel pressed into the darkness of her closed lids, and she wondered, not for the first time, why she continued to have these dreams. Isbel had died three weeks ago. She was gone. Why did her mind continue to pull her back as if she wasn't?

Allison supposed it was because she missed her, missed the strange floating girl with the eyeless face. Why she missed her so much, she couldn't have said. They'd hardly known each other, had spent only a little time together. And still, the dreams kept coming.

Finally opening her eyes, Allison squinted at the brightness of her room. Slowly, she pulled herself out of bed and made her way to her dresser. From inside she took out Isbel's coin, turning it over and over in her hands. Isbel had told her she'd used the coin to forge a connection between them, which allowed her to communicate with her through her dreams. Was that connection the reason she felt her loss so deeply?

It was the only explanation Allison could think of. Despite their short time together, they had formed a bond, and it seemed that bond would not easily fade.

* * *

After school Allison went over to Lydia's house. Lydia had gone shopping the other day, and as she changed into one of the new outfits she'd bought, Allison told her about the dream.

"If it was because you had a magical connection with her, wouldn't Stiles and I be having dreams about her, too?" Lydia asked, turning around and gesturing for Allison to help do up the zipper of her dress. "Because I haven't been."

After Allison zipped her up, Lydia flipped her long red hair over shoulder, and turned back around to model the dress. Allison nodded approvingly. "Nice." She said.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "That's it, just 'nice'?"

Allison pursed her lips. "It has, uh, nice lines?"

Lydia scoffed. "Just unzip me," She said.

"The connection that Isbel and I had was different from the one we all made when we did the mindshare spell," Allison explained as Lydia changed into another outfit. "I don't know what it was exactly, but I know she used it to talk to me in my dreams."

"So maybe that channel's still open somehow,"

Allison frowned. "I don't know... these dreams felt different from the ones she used to talk to me in,"

"Well they would if she's dead now. Talking to the dead is nothing like talking to the living. Or semi-living." Lydia finished buttoning up her skirt, and put her hands on her hips. "Let me have a look at the coin—you said that was what she used to make the connection, or whatever. Maybe I'll hear something."

"Okay," Allison said, nodding slowly. "The skirt is nice too, by the way,"

Lydia did not look impressed.

* * *

"I forgot to tell you," Lydia said, as Allison drove them back to her apartment. "I ran into Jackson at the mall yesterday,"

Allison glanced at Lydia out of the corner of her eye. She hadn't seen Jackson since the party, and she'd spent most of her time there guiltily avoiding him. Although, she told herself, she shouldn't feel guilty about what she'd done; it had been in Jackson's best interest, after all. "Oh yeah?" She asked. "How'd that go?"

Lydia shrugged. "It went well, we had a nice conversation and I helped him and Danny buy things, which is always fun..." Lydia trailed off, and stared out the window. "But I don't know, he just seemed... sad. Well, more sad than he usually seems, anyways."

Allison frowned. "He seemed more sad than usual? Like, more sad than he was when he was being messed with by the witches?"

Lydia paused. "Well, yes and no. They way he seemed yesterday was definitely different than the way he's been for the past few months. Before it was sort of a wild-eyed, frantic, desperately depressed vibe about him, where as now it's just more... empty. Just sort of a sad emptiness, I suppose."

At Lydia's words, a seed of worry planted itself in Allison's chest. She had done the right thing, by breaking up him and Derek, hadn't she? There was no way that being involved with Derek Hale could have possibly been good for someone. Derek was a murderer, he turned teenagers into monsters—his bite had turned Jackson into a kanima in the first place. He was violent and dangerous. Jackson had to be better off without him.

But then, maybe Jackson didn't think so.

"Do you think... do you have any idea why he's so... blah?" Allison asked, trying to sound casual. Maybe it wasn't because of what she'd done, maybe he had more going on in his life.

Lydia nodded. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I know," She said. There was a bitter note in her voice. She sighed. "Derek broke up with him, apparently. Jackson has no idea why."

Ah, hell. "And he's that upset over it?"

"Of course he is," Lydia crossed her arms over her chest. "He did love him, after all."

The seed of worry was beginning to blossom and grow. Loved him? How? Why? She'd assumed that whatever they'd been doing together had been about sex, or power... but not love.

But Derek was bad for him! Isbel had told her that, told her their relationship was unhealthy, disgusting even.

And Isbel of course could be trusted on that subject. It wasn't as if she had some overwhelming bias against men... and supernatural beings. Both of which Derek and Jackson were.

Oh hell— "I wish I could feel happy," Lydia was saying, "That now he knows what it's like to be betrayed by someone he loves, but I just feel terrible for him. I mean, as horrible as it makes me feel, even thinking about him cheating on me... he just seemed so lost, Allison. And I feel awful for him, I really do,"

"Yeah," Allison murmured, gripping the steering wheel tightly in her fists. "Me too..."

* * *

The apartment was empty when Allison and Lydia arrived there. They headed straight for Allison's bedroom, and Allison got the coin for Lydia.

After hesitating for a moment, Lydia took the coin in her hand. She closed her fist over it, and shut her eyes, concentrating.

Allison watched her for a minute. "Is it working?" She asked.

"Mmm, well I don't hear anything," Lydia replied. She opened her eyes. "So I'm going to say no,"

Allison sighed. "Or maybe there's just nothing to hear," She said.

"Also possible," Lydia went to put the coin back down on the dresser. It slipped her from hand and fell down against the wood, spinning around for a second before landing with the witches knot up. Lydia's eyes went wide. "Did you hear that?"

Allison raised an eyebrow. "Uh, hear what?"

"Your name," Lydia said, staring at the coin. She picked the coin up and spun it around again, leaning in closely to listen to what only she could hear. "Allison... it's saying Allison..."

"Is it Isbel? Is it her voice?" Allison asked.

"I... I think so," Lydia said, squinting. "It's hard to hear,"

The coin fell again, this time showing the alchemical symbol for water. Lydia straightened up. "You spin it this time,"

"What'll that do?"

"How should I know? Something, maybe,"

Allison picked the coin up. It felt warm against her fingers. She put the edge of it to the dresser, flicked her fingers to send it twirling around.

Lydia stared it, her lips pursed. "I think this coin is definitely keeping some line open, between you and Isbel,"

"Why? What's it saying?"

Lydia reached forward and caught the coin before it could fall again. She held it out towards Allison. "It's saying 'let me go,'"

Feeling slightly shaky, Allison took the coin from Lydia. She stared at it, imagining she too could hear Isbel whispering to her.

"I think this coin might be keeping her here somehow," Lydia continued. "Instead of wherever it is she she should be. I think she might be bound to it or something. But she wants to move on,"

"So my dreams have been real?" Allison asked quietly, turning the coin over in her palm. "She's really been there?"

"I guess so," Lydia said.

Allison closed her fist around the coin, and pressed her arm against her chest. She looked at Lydia. "Lydia, I have to tell you something. Something I did..."

Lydia raised her eyebrows, waiting. Allison turned away from her, and sat down on the edge of her bed. "I broke up Derek and Jackson," She said.

"You what?"

Allison squeezed the coin in her hand. "I thought that Derek was bad for him, that he was ruining his life," She explained. "I mean, Jackson's been ignoring everyone he cares about and he was barely at school—it's not healthy, Lydia. I thought that if Derek broke up with him, it would help him get back on track... I thought he would be better off,"

Lydia had her hands on her hips. She looked furious. "Allison, you have to stop this," She said. "You can't just decide you know what's best for other people! People have a right to decide for themselves, even if they're making a mistake!"

Lydia shook her head. "You told Jackson to break up with me because you thought you were protecting me, but I deserved to have that information, even if it would have hurt me! And now you're doing the same thing to Jackson, and it has to stop," She took a deep breath. "Whatever was going on between Derek and Jackson is between them, and them only. You have no idea what's going on in Jackson's life, or if Derek is helping or making it worse. If you wanted to help you should have talked to Jackson, not just bulldozed your way through his life!"

Allison opened her mouth, wanting to argue; she'd only been trying to help, trying to keep Jackson from getting hurt even worse than he'd already been. She'd thought he'd needed her to do something.

She closed her mouth again, saying nothing. Lydia was right, she knew she was. Allison didn't have all the information, she didn't know what was going on between them. Maybe it was healthy, maybe it wasn't. But it wasn't for her to say, she knew that. It had never been for her to say.

"Lydia... I made a mistake," Allison said.

Lydia sighed, and sat down beside her on the bed. She put her hand over Allison's. "I know you did," Lydia said. "But now, you're going to fix it."


	34. Amendment

* * *

"And I've been waking in the morning  
Just like every other day,  
And just like every boring blues song  
I get swallowed by the pain.  
And so I fumble for your figure in the darkness  
Just to make it go away.  
But you're not lying there any longer  
And I know that that's my fault."  
—Frank Turner,  _Recovery_

* * *

The first thing Jackson thought of when he woke up, before he even opened his eyes, was Derek. It had been this way for months, even when he'd been wracked with nightmares and tormented by images of Matt, it had always been Derek on his mind when he jerked back in to consciousness. But where thoughts of Derek had once been accompanied by feelings of relief, hope, comfort and desire, they now came with a distinct sense of loss and emptiness.

He wondered, not for the first time, when that was going to stop. After a month? Two? Six? A year? God, he hoped not. He couldn't take a whole year of this misery, this pining and longing. Wasn't there just some switch he could flick, to turn this off inside of him. A  _feelings off_ switch somewhere in his brain?  _He doesn't want you anymore—time to stop wanting him!_

Tragically, every heart-sick love song he'd ever heard told him that was not the case. He just had to learn to live with it, wait for it to fade, as Lydia had said it one day would. He wondered if she'd been lying about that... he wished he'd been listening to her heartbeat when she'd said that. Then at least he'd know if she really believed it or not.

It took him a while to get dressed, to get ready to start the day. He mentally mapped out how his day would go in his head; Science in the morning, trading snarky remarks and comments with Erica when Harris wasn't paying attention. Occasionally passing notes back to Isaac, so he'd didn't feel so lonely sitting two rows behind them with a lab partner who was almost always passed out asleep at her desk.

After that was lunch, where they'd join Boyd in the cafeteria and plot ways to get out of going back to class in the afternoon. Boyd always pointed out the flaws in their plans, and refused to help them come up with scenarios that would actually work.

Then after lunch, more science. Erica was always antsy during the afternoon lessons, and her comments became less snarky and more lethal—she'd mutter about ripping out the throat of the person behind them who kept tapping their pen against the table, or draw little cartoons of her throwing a student through one of the windows and making a break for it. Jackson was never sure how serious she was about these acts of violence, but it did make for an amusing way to pass the hours.

Maybe he could grab a movie with Danny afterwards. He wondered what Danny would say if he invited Erica, Isaac and Boyd along. Would that be weird? At first, maybe... but after a while he thought they would all get along well. Maybe he'd bring it up.

It was alright, the day ahead of him. Not exactly wonderful, but not entirely painful, either. He would be okay.

But he still wouldn't see Derek. And as much as he wished it wouldn't, that knowledge stung like nothing else he'd ever experienced.

* * *

The first half of class passed by with surprising swiftness. Mr. Harris had them conduct experiments with different chemicals, which was as close to fun as they got in chemistry. Near the end of class, there was a small explosion at the back of the room, at Isaac's table. It seemed his partner had woken up just in time to make their experiment combustible, and the two were sitting in a cloud of smoke, her laughing at his blackened face and burnt off eyebrows. The experiment appeared to have literally blown up in his face.

Harris tried to make sure Isaac was okay, but Isaac quickly ducked away, covering his eyebrows with his hands as they had undoubtedly begun to grow back already. While he ran off to the washroom to clean off his face and regrow his facial hair, Erica picked a fight with his lab partner, grabbing her by the front of her shirt and asking her how'd she like to have  _her_ face burnt off.

It took ten minutes and the combined efforts of Harris and Jackson to break up the fight. Erica was still fuming as the left for lunch, her anger exacerbated by the detention she'd received after school.

"I swear, I'm going to kill her," Erica growled, her hands balled up into fists. Jackson saw blood welling up where her claws were piercing her skin. "If that little  _brat_ thinks she can get away with almost killing Isaac, she has another thing coming—"

Jackson put his hand on her shoulder, stopping her. "You need to calm down," He said. He gestured to her hands, which had begun to drip blood onto the floor. "You're hurting yourself,"

Erica frowned and uncurled her fingers, revealing bloody claws. Jackson moved in closer to her, trying to block anyone from seeing. "Whoops," She said. The wounds began to heal immediately, and her claws retracted, leaving bloody fingers in their place, which was only slightly better.

"Take off your jacket, hold it in your hands to cover them," Jackson told her. She did as instructed. "Now go find a washroom and clean up—and try and stay calm,"

Erica rolled her eyes. "I make no guarantees," She mumbled. She walked off, trying to look casual with her jacket draped over her hands.

Jackson sighed, and entered the cafeteria on his own. He looked around for Boyd, and was heading towards him when she approached him.

"Hey, Jackson," Allison said, holding her arms behind her back. She gave him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Can I talk to you?"

Jackson glanced over at Boyd, who was obviously listening and had his eyebrows raised intently. "Sure, Allison," He said.

They sat at a mostly empty table across from each other. Allison folded her hands on the table. She was nervous, Jackson could tell. He could almost smell it on her.

"So," Allison said. "How've you been?"

Jackson shrugged. "I don't know... alright, I guess." He said.

Allison inclined her head. "Really though, I mean I'm honestly asking how you've been. It wasn't just a perfunctory question."

Jackson blinked a few times, staring at her and wondering what the hell she was up to. They had barely spoken for months, not since she'd come at him with a crossbow, demanding he break up with Lydia. Now she was suddenly concerned about his well being? "What do you want, Allison?" Allison glanced away, biting down on her lip, and Jackson felt bad for being so harsh. "I'm sorry, I just mean... we haven't really talked at all..."

"Lydia told me about your break-up..." Allison said, still not looking at him. Her voice was quiet. Slowly she lifted her eyes to meet his. "Have you been miserable?"

Jackson's mouth opened, surprised. Not because Lydia had told Allison about the break-up—Allison was her best friend, he assumed they talked about everything together—but at the bluntness of her question. "I don't know, Allison." He paused. "Sometimes, I guess. Yeah,"

Allison bit her lip again, and ducked her head. There was definitely something going on here. "Jackson... I have something to tell you," She said. "And when I do I want you to remember that there are a lot of people around us..."

Jackson felt his stomach tighten. She was reminding him that there were  _witnesses_ around them. "Allison," He said, he jaw clenching. "What did you do?"

Allison looked up at him, her eyes wide and full of apologies. She cringed. "Something bad..."


	35. Broken

* * *

"And in the end,  
We were all just humans,  
Drunk on the idea  
That love,  
Only love,  
Could heal our brokenness."  
—Christopher Poindexter,  _'The Blooming of Madness' Poem #4_

* * *

Derek had been half-heartedly scrolling through the contents of Deaton's database when he heard the car pull up, and picked up the scent of the person who exited it. He was on his feet in a instant, knocking his chair over backwards as he sprung up. What was he doing here? Had something happened—no one was with him, and surely if Erica, Boyd or Isaac had been horribly injured in some way, he would have brought them with him. Then what was it?

Derek pulled the door open before he had a chance to knock. A strange sense of relief flooded Derek's chest when he saw Jackson standing there—he could smell the anger rolling off him, and registered his balled up fists and furious expression instantly—but still, the sight of him brought relief. It felt as if he'd been holding his breath for three weeks, and now he could finally let it out. Finally breathe again.

"You  _fucking_ asshole!" Jackson shouted, storming into the apartment and shoving Derek back.

Derek was so surprised, surprised that Jackson was  _here_ and surprised that he was shouting at him, that he didn't even stop himself from stumbling backwards. Nor did he do anything to stop him when Jackson charged forward and shoved him again.

Jackson continued to shout, his face bright red and his eyes blue. "What is  _wrong_ with you?" He grabbed the front of Derek's shirt and pulled him in, shouting in his face.  _"How could you?"_

Derek blinked a few times, his brain finally catching up to the situation. Jackson was here, and he was obviously angry about something. "How could I what?"

Jackson ground his teeth, his blue eyes boring into Derek's. Even knowing what they represented, Derek was still struck by how he looked, with his eyes like that. Even with his face screwed up in anger, Jackson was still the most beautiful person Derek had ever laid eyes on.

Jackson went to push him again, and this time Derek stopped him. He put his hand on Jackson's chest, shoving him off. Jackson growled at him, angrily baring his fangs. "Jackson, what is this about?"

"You broke up with me," Jackson said. For a moment, Derek wondered if it was actually possible for it to have taken three whole weeks to process that. "Because  _Allison Argent_ told you to."

Derek looked away. Ah, that's what this was about. Somehow Jackson had found out about his conversation with Allison. As if it changed something. "It's not like that, Jackson."

"Yeah?" Jackson asked, stepping forward again. "Then what  _is_ it like, Derek? Because to me, that's sure how it  _fucking sounds!_ "

"I didn't break up with you because she told me to," He said. "I broke up with you because she said I was ruining your life, and she was right. I wasn't good for you, Jackson."

"What the fuck does Allison know?" Jackson screamed. "She doesn't know  _shit_ about me, and she had no right to put that crap in your head." Jackson grabbed his shirt again, but did not go to shove him back. "She's  _wrong,_ Derek!  _You're_ wrong!"

Derek could feel his own anger growing, and he forced himself to remain calm. "How can you tell me I was wrong, Jackson? I broke up with you, and look what happened. You're talking to your parents again, you're going to school. You're spending time with your friends—"

"How do you know that?"

"What?"

Jackson let go of his shirt, and stepped back again. "How do you know all that crap about me?" Derek glanced up at the ceiling off the loft. "Have you been  _spying_ on me?"

"Not exactly," Derek said. He looked back to Jackson. "Isaac has been filling me in. He told me you're doing better,"

"Congratulations then," Jackson spat. Derek raised his eyebrows, surprised. "You threw me into the water and I learned how to swim. Never mind that it was traumatic—you got what you wanted. Are you happy now?"

Derek scowled. "This wasn't about making  _me_ happy Jackson—"

"Oh really?" Jackson asked, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. "Well it sure as hell wasn't about  _my_ happiness, or what  _I wanted._ Because what I wanted was you. Obviously  _that_ didn't matter,"

"Jackson,"

"No, no you  _listen_ to me!" Jackson cried. "I—I  _needed_ you, Derek!  _I needed you._ And you threw me away, like I was nothing,"

"You are not nothing to me, Jackson," Derek said quietly. "You've never been nothing." Part of him felt angry that Jackson could even think that, that he could be so stupid to think he meant anything less than everything. But mostly, he just hated himself because it was only more proof of how he had failed Jackson. Their entire relationship he had failed him, by not doing more for him and by not making sure he knew he was more. "I did not throw you away, I... I let you go, okay? I had to let you go,"

Derek thought that Jackson was going to slap him. "You  _let me go?_ " He hissed. "Are you  _fucking_ kidding me?"

Derek sighed. He put his face into his hands. "Jackson, you don't understand..." What could he say, so that Jackson would get it? So that he would understand what the past three weeks like had been like for him, and how hard it had been to make himself say those things to him. To act as if he didn't want him, to turn his back on him when he'd said that Derek was his fucking  _family._ To make him understand that every night the only thing he saw when he closed his eyes was Jackson's face, and the way it had broken in front of him. It had killed him, honestly and truly  _killed_ him to do that. And then he had to live with it, every day.

"Then tell me! Make me understand, Derek!" Jackson was shouting. "Tell me what was so fucking horrible about our relationship that you couldn't just fucking  _talk_ to me, like a normal fucking person!"

Derek grabbed Jackson by the shoulders, practically pleading with him. "She told me I was  _ruining your life,_ Jackson!" He shouted. "That I was  _bad_ for you, that what we had was  _hurting_ you! And she was right, she was fucking right! You weren't living your life. You weren't dealing with anything, you were  _hiding!_ And being with me let you do it! Because I was broken too, and I never put myself back together. And it gave you the excuse not to either." Derek dropped his hands, staring at Jackson and begging him to listen for once. "But you  _have_  heal. You have to live your life. And if I was stopping you from doing that... than I had to go. I couldn't hurt you, Jackson. I can't."

Jackson swallowed, and turned away. "I... look, you're not wrong, okay?" He muttered, folding his arms over himself. "I had a lot of things... and I wasn't dealing with them. I was running, and when we were together, I felt like I never had to stop."

Jackson looked back towards him, his eyes watery but once again their usual colour. "I was in a bad place... and, I mean, I still am... but it was even worse before. Even  _before_ the witches came to town, I was messed up." Jackson raised his eyebrows. "Do you get what I'm saying?  _I_ was messed up, I was  _bad._ You were not bad  _for_ me, Derek. You were... you were the only good thing I had,"

Derek took that in quietly, turning Jackson's words over in his head. He wanted to believe him, desperately. But still, he couldn't help but thing he had made things worse. And he couldn't stand that.

When Derek said nothing, Jackson continued. "And anyway, things are different now, Derek. I—I'm dealing with things, talking them over with my parents. They're helping me. And I'm... I'm trying my best to heal,"

That surprised him. Isaac had told him that Jackson was on better terms with his parents, but he hadn't expected them to become his confidants.

"What have you told your parents?" Derek asked.

"Everything," Jackson said, shrugging. "I told them everything,"

Derek raised his eyebrows. " _Everything?_ " He repeated. "You told them you're a werewolf... ?"

"I told them  _everything,_ " Jackson stressed. "About being a werewolf, about being a kanima, about you, about the pack, about everything that's happened to me over the last year. Right now, they know more than you do,"

"What does that mean?" Derek stepped forward. "What haven't you told me?"

Jackson looked up at him, defiant. "No, forget it. I want to figure this out first."

"Figure  _what_ out?"

"This," Jackson said, gesturing between them. "Us. Are we getting back together or not?"

Derek's mouth opened, the bluntness of the question throwing him off. "I... do you want to?" Derek asked.

If he was being honest with himself, the second Jackson had stepped foot on his property he had hoped that this was what he'd come here to do. The past few weeks without him had been tortuous, and he'd been miserable. There wasn't any part of him that a single desire to endure another minute of that misery.

But he had broken up with him for a reason. Jackson needed to heal, he needed to be whole. And before Derek agreed to give their relationship another shot—as much as he might want to—he needed to be sure that what Jackson was saying was true. That he was trying to heal, and that he would keep trying.

Jackson rolled his eyes. "No, I just stormed over here the second I found out about Allison's meddling because I  _don't_ want to get back together. I've been really happy being apart, it's just been wonderful,"

"I thought I broke your heart,"

"You did," Jackson shoved at one of Derek's shoulders. "Time to start putting it back together, asshole,"

Unable to help himself, Derek put his hands on either side of Jackson's face, pulled him towards him and kissed him as hard as he could. He had missed him so much, missed his scent and the sound of his voice. He'd missed his whining and bitching, and the way he felt pressed against his body as they slept together. Derek had missed everything about him, and it was more than he could handle.

Jackson fingers found their way into Derek's hair, and he gasped against his mouth. "Is that a  _yes_ then?"

The word  _yes_ was so close to his mouth that Derek could taste it.  _Yes_ of course he wanted him back, yes of course they could date again. Anything else was unthinkable. "No," Derek grunted. With strength he wished he didn't posses, he pulled himself away from Jackson. Jackson stared up at him, crushed. "There are things, Jackson—we need to talk," He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to think when all he wanted to do was pull Jackson back into his arms and kiss him again.

"Fine," Jackson said. "Talk,"

Derek took a deep breath. "If we get back together, things have to be different. We... we have to be better. You say you're trying to heal, and that's great. And I want to help, Jackson. I want to know what's going on with you, and what's going through your head. When you feel bad, I want you to be able to come to me. And not just for sex, or temporary comfort—I want you to be able to  _talk_ to me about what's wrong. Let me help you, Jackson, please."

"Okay," Jackson said. "I can do that."

"And you can't shut everyone out again, or ignore your whole life like you were doing—it's not healthy,"

"I know that. I won't do that again,"

"Good... that's good." Derek said.

"I want  _you_ to do the same thing," Jackson said, eyebrows raised.

"What?"

"You have things you need to deal with too, Derek. You act like you're this impenetrable fortress that nothing gets to, but it's bullshit. You said it yourself, you were broken and you never healed," Jackson stepped forward, and took Derek's hand. "Let me help you heal, too,"

Derek stared down at Jackson. "Okay," He said slowly. He doubted that there was any way he could still heal, after all this time, but he couldn't demand that Jackson open up to him and not do the same. The truth was, Derek had grown so used to living with pieces of himself broken and missing, he didn't even remember how it felt to be whole. "You can try,"

Derek put his hand on the side of Jackson's face, and kissed his forehead. He breathed in, taking in Jackson's sent, once again feeling like he hadn't been able to breathe properly until now.

"So this whole break up thing... is it over yet?" Jackson asked.

Derek frowned, and said nothing. Somehow this felt too easy. Jackson was being too agreeable, too mature, and Derek wasn't sure he trusted it. It couldn't possibly be that easy, to agree to be together again after Derek had been so cruel, and Jackson had been so broken. Surely there had to be more to it—hoops to jump through, fights to have, decisions to make. They couldn't just... get back together. Could they?

Derek didn't know. He didn't know if there was more to discuss, more things to go over. Would Jackson keep his word, and continue struggling to heal? Could they be better, have something healthy and at least resembling normal? What if it was all a mistake?

There didn't seem to be any right answer—any way to know for sure what would happen. But looking at Jackson, standing there with him waiting for an answer, Derek did know one thing; he loved Jackson, and he wanted to be with him. And he didn't know if it was enough, but for now it was all he had.

Derek stepped towards him, placing his hand back against Jackson's cheek. "Yeah, I think so," He said.

"Finally," Jackson muttered. He reached up and kissed Derek, wrapping his arms over his neck. Derek kissed him back slowly, relearning the taste of his mouth and the feel of his lips. He felt as if had been lost, hopelessly lost, and had just now found his way back home. And he never intended to leave again.


	36. Life

* * *

"Everything worth dying for is certainly worth living for."  
—Joseph Heller,  _Catch-22_

* * *

Jackson lay against Derek's chest, tracing his fingers over it gently. He ran his hand down through the hair on his chest, and over the hard lines of his stomach and then back up again. He felt as if he could do this for hours, just lie with Derek in his bed, touching him, feeling his arms around him... he could do this forever. Especially since he'd thought he'd never be able to touch him again, every second of it felt like a privilege, like a gift he'd been given from the universe.

Jackson felt Derek's hand brush over his cheek, and he lifted his head and kissed him. Derek kissed him back, running his fingers up through his hair. "What are you smiling about?" Derek asked.

"Oh, was I smiling?" Jackson asked, an obvious smile on his face. "Just happy about something, I guess,"

Derek was grinning back at him. "Yeah, me too," He said. They kissed again, and Jackson lay back down against Derek's chest.

It was amazing to remember how  _angry_ he'd been when he'd stormed over here to confront Derek. Where was all that anger now? Somehow it had just evaporated into nothing the moment Derek had kissed him. That had never happened before. His anger never just disappearedon him—it festered in his chest and stomach, gnawing at him until he couldn't take any more.

But as surprising as it was, it was true. He felt none of the anger he'd experienced when Allison had told him what she'd done, none of the hurt or the betrayal. Part of him thought he  _should_ still be angry; getting back together didn't change what Derek had done in the first place.

Jackson supposed it didn't really matter if he  _should_  have continued to feel angry and hurt. The fact was that he didn't, at all. He just felt grateful. Grateful and relieved. As difficult as the last three weeks had been for him, none of it seemed to matter any more. And no matter what he had to deal with going forward, he felt assured that he would be able to handle it all, so long as he had Derek by his side.

"So, how've you been?" Jackson asked, rolling onto his back and tilting his chin up to look at Derek. He wanted to know everything Derek had done during their time apart. Having missed three weeks of Derek's life, he felt it was high time he caught up.

"Hmm?"

"The last three weeks, I mean. How've you been? What have you been doing—fill me in,"

"Oh... they've been... very productive," Derek said. Jackson waited for him to elaborate, but nothing else came.

Jackson raised his eyebrows. "How so?"

"Well, I built a book shelf—it's over there in the corner," Jackson glanced over and saw a large bookshelf he hadn't noticed before. "And then I put books on it, arranged alphabetically and by subject. Um, I also cleaned the loft a few times... several times, actually..."

"I noticed it looked very clean in here," Jackson commented.

"Well that's because of the cleaning I did."

"Anything else?"

"I've been going through that database that Deaton gave to Scott—he passed it on to me a couple of weeks ago. There's a lot of great information in there, actually..."

"How come?"

"What do you mean 'how come?' I want to be prepared, Jackson. For the monster or demon or whatever else it is that comes next. I want to know what's out there, what we're vulnerable to. And I want to know how to kill it, before it kills any of us,"

Jackson sat up and raised his eyebrows. "How do you know something else will come? Maybe everything is finally over," He said, more voicing his own desires than anything.

Derek snorted. "It's Beacon Hills, Jackson,"

"So what? It's not like we're over a hellmouth or something,"

Derek furrowed his brow. "A hellmouth?"

"It's from Buffy,"

"Yes Jackson, I know what a hellmouth is." Derek said. "I just didn't think  _you_ did,"

Jackson shrugged. "Erica's been making me watch. We just finished season one yesterday,"

"And?"

Jackson sighed. "And I don't get it. I mean, it's alright, sometimes it's funny and some of the characters are okay, but I just don't get the whole obsession with it. It's not the greatest thing I've ever seen,"

"Season two is better," Derek offered.

Jackson squinted at him. "Have you seriously watched the whole thing?" He asked. Derek nodded. "There's like seven seasons. You watched seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer? You didn't even want to buy a television at all,"

"I watched it with Laura," Derek said. "She loved that show, and she liked watching it with me. I didn't love it at first either, but it grows on you. And I liked that their werewolf character was sympathetic. Werewolves are usually the bad guys... I liked that Oz wasn't,"

"I haven't met Oz yet,"

"Season two,"

"Mmm, I see,"

"So is that what you've been up to?" Derek asked, winding his arm over Jackson's shoulder. "Catching up on cult television shows?"

Jackson narrowed his eyes. "Why bother asking, I'm sure our good pal Isaac has already informed you of my every movement over the last three weeks,"

"Shut up, Isaac didn't tell me about your every movement," Derek said, rolling his eyes. "He just... gave me the highlights, so I knew you were doing alright,"

"Yeah? Did he mention how miserable I was without you?"

"He... did actually, a few times," Derek confessed.

Jackson's mouth opened. "Seriously? And you  _still_ thought you'd made the right choice?"

Derek glanced away. "I was hoping he was exaggerating..."

"Well he  _wasn't,_ you idiot," Jackson said, punching him lightly on the arm.

"Just so you know, I was just as miserable as you were," Derek said.

"Which makes you twice as stupid for doing what you did," Jackson retorted. "It didn't work out for  _anyone,_ "

Derek put his hand against the side of Jackson's face. "No, it really didn't."

"Thank god I talked sense into you," Jackson said. "Right?"

"Right,"

Derek leaned in and pressed his mouth against Jackson's, and Jackson wrapped his arms over Derek's neck, holding onto him. As they kissed, Jackson pulled Derek down on top of him. He titled his head back as Derek kissed along his jaw and neck, moaning quietly.

Derek sucked in his breath. "God I missed that," He mumbled.

Jackson grinned. "What did you miss?" He asked.

Derek slid his hands up over Jackson's arms, and then pinned his wrists above his head. "This, you. The noises you make, the way you feel under me. Everything. I missed everything," He pressed his forehead against Jackson's, breathing in deeply again. "The last three weeks, without you... they were just..." Derek shook his head.

Jackson tilted his head slightly and gave Derek a soft kiss. "Well that's over now," He said quietly. He lay back down against the bed, and looked up at Derek. "Now you've got me."

Derek brushed his lips over Jackson's. "Good," He said.

They lay like that for several minutes, kissing lightly, neither of them making any moves to take things beyond that. It seemed enough, in that moment, just to be touching Derek. Just to be kissing him, and having his arms around him was enough. To be able to breathe in his scent, and feel the heat of his body. He didn't think he'd ever appreciated those things enough before. He would now.

"So," Derek said, once again holding Jackson comfortably against his chest. "Besides catching up on  _Buffy,_ what else were you doing for the last three weeks? You mentioned talking to your parents... working through some things?" Jackson turned away. He could feel Derek looking at him. Derek pressed a kiss against his shoulder. "What sort of things, Jackson?"

Jackson sighed. He supposed he couldn't just lie in Derek's bed forever, kissing and chatting idly about things like  _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ and Derek's obsessive cleaning rituals. Eventually he was going to have to have  _that_ talk with him. Better to get it over with now.

Jackson sat up on the bed, and began rooting around for his clothing.

Derek furrowed his brow. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Jackson asked, locating his shirt on the floor and grabbing at it. His pants he found buried under the covers, and his underwear turned up under the bed.

"It  _looks_ like you're getting dressed," Derek commented, still lying in bed and making no moves to change that.

Jackson snorted, pulling on his pants. "Nice to know your observational skills are sharp as ever."

" _Why_ are you getting dressed? _"_  Derek asked. The moment Jackson finished doing up the button on his jeans, Derek grabbed him around his middle and pulled him back down on the bed. His mouth worked over Jackson's ear. "Is it too soon to undress you again?"

" _Yes,"_ Jackson snapped, pushing Derek off of him. He stood up again, and faced Derek with his hands on his hips. "Come on, get up, get dressed. We have to talk,"

Derek rolled his eyes, and began looking for his own clothes. "Why is this the kind of talking we can't do in bed, without clothes?" He mumbled.

"Trust me, you'll want to be dressed," Jackson replied.

Grudgingly, Derek picked himself off the bed and threw on his clothes. While he did, Jackson went into the kitchen and made some tea. He had found, over the past few weeks, that having tea was helpful during these sorts of conversations. It gave you something to focus on, something to do other than just stare at the person you were talking to.

Jackson put the tea on the coffee table and took a seat on the couch.

"Alright, I'm dressed," Derek said, crashing down next to him on the couch. "What do we need to talk about?"

Jackson picked up his tea, trying to determine how to best tell Derek about Matt. "Well... you wanted to know what I've been working through, with my parents, right?"

Derek nodded. "Is what happened with Matt part of it?" He asked. Jackson looked up, surprised. "I mean, being the kanima... being forced to kill...?"

"Yeah," Jackson said, looking back to his tea. "That's a big part of it. But... about Matt, there's some things you don't know,"

Jackson glanced at Derek, and saw he was sitting with his body turned towards him, tea untouched. There was concern on his face. "You mentioned that," Derek said. His voice was quiet.

Turning his mug around in his hands, Jackson nodded. "Yeah, well... it's um—" Jackson sighed. "Look, just promise me you're not going to freak out, okay? I mean, you'll want to freak out, but just try not to please?" He saw Derek open his mouth to respond, but Jackson continued. "And don't tell me your sorry, I've heard enough of that from my parents. It's not your fault, and I get that you feel awful—or you will in a minute anyways—but it makes me feel, I don't know... pitied." He looked up at Derek. "Please don't pity me, okay? I hate that."

Derek put a hand on Jackson's shoulder, and squeezed lightly. "Alright Jackson, I promise not to pity you," He said. "And I'll try my best not to freak out, although to be honest I'm already worried. Would you just tell me what happened already?"

Jackson took a deep breath. "Well, what happened... Matt..." Jackson's ground his teeth together, unable to get the words out. He didn't know why he was having such a hard time. He'd told his parents, after all—although his anger had seriously helped then. But he'd talked about it with them afterwards, without any anger fuelling him. So why couldn't he tell Derek?

Jackson took a sip of his tea, and stared down at his cup. Maybe it was the anticipation of the look on Derek's face, the way it would break and crumple when he told him that was keeping the words in. Maybe if he didn't look at him...

"When I was the kanima, Matt had complete control over me..." Jackson began, looking down at the dark liquid in his cup and not at Derek. "And so he sort of used that control to...  _take advantage_ of me," That seemed like a good way to put it. That was generally how his Dad referred to it. Neither of his parents were particularly fond of using the word  _rape._ His mother had, on occasion, but it was generally avoided if it at all possible."

When Derek said nothing, he looked up at Derek, only to find his face doing the exact thing Jackson had feared it would. Derek looked broken, and lost and horrified.

Jackson moved closer to him on the couch, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Derek? Are you okay?"

Derek blinked a few times, and seemed to get a grip on himself. His expression hardened and his emotions became unreadable. "Can I hug you?" He asked. Jackson raised his eyebrow. It was a strange question to come out of such a blank expression. "I'm not allowed to freak out, or say I'm sorry—can I hug you?"

"Oh. Sure,"

Jackson leaned in, and Derek wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight. Jackson's heart was hammering a bit in his chest, but it soon slowed to its normal rate. He had told Derek, finally. It felt a little like a weight had been lifted, although Jackson feared he had only transferred it over to Derek.

"Are you alright?" Derek asked quietly.

Jackson nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm... dealing,"

Derek kissed his forehead, and held him tighter. "I swear, Jackson, nothing like that is ever going to happen to you, ever again. I won't let it, I promise."

Jackson smiled. He lifted his head, and gave Derek a long, slow kiss. "I know, Derek. I know,"

Jackson lost track of how long they stayed like that. At some point they moved from sitting up to lying down, arms wrapped around each other on the couch, not moving, just holding each other. Jackson kept waiting for Derek to say something, or to start screaming and shouting... but Derek just lay there, quietly, and held him.

Jackson supposed it had been a little over an hour when he finally lifted his head up and looked at Derek. Derek was staring up at the ceiling of the loft, his eyes unfocused. "Derek?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked.

Derek glanced down at him. "Do you?"

"I don't know. I don't  _want_ to, I guess... but I feel like we should,"

"If you don't want to, then we don't have to, Jackson,"

"Yeah but... you probably have questions, right?"

"It doesn't matter,"

"Yes, it does matter. Come on,"

Derek sighed. "How many times?" He asked, the words coming grudgingly out of his mouth. "How many times did he...?"

Jackson glanced away, and rested his head back down against Derek's chest. "I don't know. A lot. All the time." Jackson felt Derek tense up beneath him. "Sorry,"

"Hey," Derek put his hand on Jackson's cheek, and lifted his face to look at him. "Don't apologize. None of this is your fault. You know that right?"

"Yeah, my parents have sort of told me that a few times,"

"That's not what I'm asking. I'm asking if you  _know_ that. Really know it,"

Jackson sighed. He sat up, and pulled his legs up in front of him. Derek sat up as well, and put his arm over Jackson's shoulders. "I know it... but most of me doesn't believe it. If that makes any sense,"

Derek nodded. "It does. Why don't you believe it?"

"Well, I mean come on. It kind of  _is_ my fault," Jackson said.

"In what way?"

"If I hadn't been the way I was, I never would have become the kanima. I wouldn't have killed all those people, and Matt wouldn't have been able to do what he did. If I'd been different—if I'd been better..."

Derek put his hand against his cheek. "Jackson, you were a lost, screwed up kid. That doesn't make the kanima curse your fault—it wasn't anyone's fault, it was just a freak occurrence. You didn't do anything to bring that on, and you're not responsible for what happened to you. You had no choice about turning into the kanima, it was something that was  _forced_ on you. Matt was the one who had a choice, and he chose to use you for his own petty revenge.  _He_ chose to do those things to you. It's his fault, and no one else's. Do you believe me?"

"I believe you believe what you're saying," Jackson mumbled, glancing away.

"Jackson, look at me," Derek demanded. Jackson lifted his eyes back up to meet Derek's. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't deserve it, any of it,"

"I never said I did..."

" _You didn't deserve it,_ " Derek repeated.

Jackson blinked a few times, fighting against the itch of tears threatening to well up. "Are you sure?" He asked, his voice quiet.

Derek nodded. "I'm sure," He said, pressing a kiss against Jackson's temple.

Jackson licked his lips, and turned away as he blinked back tears. He didn't know if he believed Derek, or his parents, but it was starting to feel less and less like he was being lied to. What if they were right? What if Derek was right, and he hadn't deserved any of it? He'd gone so long thinking that what happened to him was a punishment for the way he'd been. It seemed impossible that they could be right. But maybe...

Before he could really start to sob, Derek pulled him back into his arms, and rested his chin on his forehead. "One day Jackson, you'll believe me. You'll know I'm right. And I won't stop telling you until you do,"

Jackson pressed his face against Derek's shoulder, hoping to stifle the tears. "Hold me tighter," He muttered, wrapping his own arms around Derek's middle.

Derek did as instructed. "Just tell me when to let go," He said.

"How about never?" Jackson murmured.

"Never works for me."


	37. Unfinished

"L. I. F. E. G. O. E. S. O. N.  
You've got more than money and sense, my friend  
You've got heart and you go in your own way  
L. I. F. E. G. O. E. S. O. N.   
What you don't have now will come back again.  
You've got heart, and you go in your own way."  
—L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N.,  _Noah and the Whale_

* * *

It was late into the evening, and the forest was quiet around them. The walk to the grave took longer than Allison remembered; had they really travelled so deeply into the forest to bury her? Allison couldn't recall much about the burial—she'd been exhausted after the fight, they all were. Magic had a way of sapping the energy out of her like nothing else she'd experienced.

It seemed as if they'd been walking for at least an hour when Lydia finally stopped her. "We're here," She said quietly.

Allison looked around, squinting in the darkness. Nothing looked familiar—or more accurately, it all looked too familiar. It looked like forest, like everything they'd been seeing for the last not-quite-an-hour. Trees, bushes, dirt...

"Are you sure?" Allison asked, still looking around her for some clue they were in the right place.

Lydia gestured to her left, towards an large oak tree. Allison saw the wide patch of dirt at its foot. Yes, that she remembered. She'd had no energy left to dig that grave, but she had anyways. If it hadn't been for Scott's help, she never would have been able to finish.

They stood at the end of the grave, and looked down at it. A shiver went through Allison's body as she considered what Isbel must look like now, lying under the bed of dirt. She didn't like to think of her that way.

"Are you going to say something?" Lydia asked, raising her eyebrows at her.

"I already  _said_ something, Lydia," Allison reminded her. "We already did this. We buried her, we said goodbye—"

"Except obviously  _you_  didn't  _really_ say goodbye, since you've still been having regular coffee dates with her in your dreams," Lydia replied.

Allison scowled, and looked back to the grave. "We don't go on  _coffee dates_ in my dreams," she mumbled. "It's not like that,"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Right, sure. Like she wasn't completely in love with you—do not even try to deny it, Allison. All that stuff about 'looking in to your heart?' Come on,"

"Lydia, what's your point?"

"My point, Allison, is even though we already did this—" She gestured at the grave, "You still haven't let go of her. Whatever connection you two have, you're holding on to it and her and it's keeping her here. And that's not good,"

Allison licked her lips, and glanced down at the ground. "But what if what I'm keeping her from is... what if it's not a good place?"

Lydia sighed. She reached out and took Allison's hand in her, squeezing it lightly. "Allison, it's not your responsibility to decide Isbel's fate for her. She made her witchy bed, and it's time for you to let her lie in it. It's what she wants,"

Allison nodded. "No, I know..." She sighed. "Alright, let's do this,"

Allison reached into her bag, and pulled out the athame and the coin. She held one in each hand, and looked down at them with a frown. She'd never done this consciously before. It had always just been something that happened while she slept. But Lydia thought that if she tried, she would be able to chose to find Isbel, outside of the dreamscape.

Allison closed her eyes, and gripped the items she held. The hilt of the dagger and the coin felt warm in her hands. "Isbel, are you there?" She mumbled. She concentrated on her, saw her in her mind. She pictured her standing in her bedroom, smiling pleasantly and looking as if she was waiting for something.

And suddenly, Allison was in her room with her. It was daytime, and light was streaming in through her windows. Although it had been night only moments ago, this didn't strike Allison as at all strange.

"Hello, Allison," Isbel greeted. She looked around her room, taking it in. "This is your bedroom, correct?"

Allison nodded. Isbel stepped over to her dresser, examining her things. She picked up a picture of Allison and her mother, then put it back down at went to look at the books on Allison's shelf. "I would have liked to have seen this," Isbel commented, taking a book of the shelf and leafing through it for a moment. She looked up at Allison. "Your room. I would have liked to have seen it,"

"You did, once," Allison reminded her.

Isbel shrugged, putting the book back on her shelf. "I suppose so. Although I was a bit... distracted, when I visited you that night. And not myself, entirely,"

"Right... "

Isbel turned to her, a strange look on her face. "Are you at my grave?" She asked. Surprised, Allison nodded. Isbel shivered slightly. "I can... I feel it," She said quietly. "It's unpleasant,"

"I came to say goodbye," Allison said, trying to ignore the strange tugging feeling in her chest.

Isbel smiled, but Allison thought it looked a bit sad. "I know," She said. She stepped towards her, and took Allison's hand. Her flesh felt cold. "Thank you, Allison,"

Allison's brow furrowed? "For what? Letting go?"

"For holding on," Isbel said. "For letting me share your dreams these past few weeks. It's... more than I deserved," Another small, sad smile. "But yes, now it is time to let go. This magic that binds us, it's unnatural. I must move on... to whatever awaits me,"

Allison gave Isbel a shaky smile in return. "I hope it's something good, Isbel. I really do,"

Isbel's smile widened. "Knowing you, Allison Argent, was all the good I could have asked for," Isbel leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss against Allison's cheek. "Goodbye," She whispered.

"Goodbye, Isbel," Allison muttered.

The room disappeared suddenly, and Isbel along with it. When Allison opened her eyes, she found herself staring up at a dark sky, obscured by climbing trees. Lydia's face popped into view, and Allison sat up slowly, her head spinning. Her back felt sore, and her had cold dirt on her hands. "What happened?" She asked.

"You fell," Lydia explained. "You closed your eyes and you just fell over. I thought you'd passed out..."

That explained the pain, Allison supposed. "How long was I out for?"

Lydia's brow furrowed. "You weren't. You closed your eyes, fell over, and now we're having this conversation,"

"Oh," Allison said. "Well, you were wrong about being able to talk to Isbel outside of the dreamscape." She said, rubbing her hands against her jeans to clear the dirt off of them. "Clearly I had to be asleep, for at least a moment."

"Alright, but clearly I  _was_ right about you being to choose to find her," Lydia pointed out. She put her hands on her hips. "You did find her, right?"

Allison nodded. "Yeah, I found her. She... thanked me, for holding on to her like I did, but told me it was time to let go."

"And what did you say?"

"I said that I hoped that there was something good waiting for her," Allison frowned. "And she said that knowing me was the only good she could have hoped for,"

Lydia raised her eyebrows. "And you  _still_ think she wasn't completely in love with you?"

Allison placed her hand on her cheek, running it over the place where Isbel had kissed her. "I don't know," She mumbled.

When she'd fallen, Allison had dropped the athame and Isbel's coin. She found them in the dirt with the light of her phone, and together she and Lydia dug a small hole in Isbel's grave. Then Allison placed the knife and the coin inside, and covered it back up again. They stood up, and looked down at the grave for a moment. Allison wasn't sure what she felt. Sad, of course... but something else, as well. She supposed some part of herself felt as if she should have saved Isbel. It was as if she'd failed her by letting her die, and then failed her again by letting her go. But that was ridiculous, of course. Isbel had sealed her own fate centuries ago. There was nothing Allison could have done.

Knowing so did not make her feel any better.

Both Allison and Lydia were quiet as they walked back to Lydia's car. Neither of them spoke until they were back on the road. "So, do you want to hang out?" Lydia asked, glancing at Allison out of the corner of her eye.

Allison bit her lip. "Actually... I have some more unfinished business to take care of," She said. "Think you could drop me off at Jackson's?"

* * *

Allison bounced up and down on the balls of her feet as she stood on the Whittemore's front porch. She told herself to be calm, that she could handle this—reminded herself that she had faced much, much worse and come away unscathed. Still, she couldn't help it. She was nervous as hell.

The door opened, and Mrs. Whittemore gave her a slightly surprised smile. "Allison, hello. We haven't seen you in a while,"

Allison smiled back. "Hey Mrs. Whittemore. Is Jackson home?"

Jackson's mother stepped back to allow Allison to enter. "He's upstairs," She informed her.

Mr. Whittemore was sitting in the living room, watching television with an expression that seemed as if he were angry with it. He looked up when he heard the door close, and when he spotted Allison his expression darkened. "Allison, what are you doing here?" He asked, standing up and crossing his arms.

"Oh, um, I'm here to see Jackson," Allison said, a bit startled by Mr. Whittemore's abrupt tone. Had Jackson told his parents about what she'd done?

Mr. Whittemore raised his eyebrows, and looked at his wife. He gestured for her to come closer to him, and when she walked over he pulled her in close and whispered in her ear. Allison thought she heard him say  _"Should we be letting her near him?"_

Completely taken aback, Allison felt her mouth open a little.

Mrs. Whittemore looked as confused as Allison felt. "What do you—" She broke off suddenly, and some sort of realization seemed to come over her. She glanced back over at Allison, and Allison was sure she saw  _fear_ in her eyes.

What the  _hell_ was going on?

As Jackson's parents whispered amongst themselves, Jackson himself came shooting down the stairs. "Mom, Dad, it's fine. Allison isn't going to hurt me, you guys don't have to worry," He said. "Right Allison?"

"What? No, of course I'm not going to hurt you—I swear, I'm not going to hurt him," She said, looking at Jackson's worried parents. Still they remained hesitant.

"We're sorry, Allison," Mrs. Whittemore said. "It's just that after Jackson told us about you and your family—well, you understand, right?"

About her family—

Allison looked at Jackson, her eyes wide. Jackson shrugged. "I told them everything, Allison," Jackson said. "About me, about you... they know it all,"

"Oh," Allison said. She glanced back at his parents. It made sense now. Their fear, their hesitation to let her near Jackson. Jackson had told them she came from a family of werewolf hunters—that she herself was one. And now when they looked at her, they saw a killer. Of course they wouldn't want her around their son.

"Guys, I promise it's okay," Jackson was saying. "We're just going to talk, alright? I'll be fine. I'll leave my door open and everything,"

At this, Mr. Whittemore frowned and made a  _hmph_ noise. "You're going up to your room, huh? Sure it's not going to get a little  _crowded_ in there?"

Jackson sighed and rolled his eyes. "Dad, I told you, Derek is not in my room. You're imagining things,"

Mr. Whittemore did not look convinced.

Jackson lead Allison upstairs. As they walked down the hallway to his room, he glanced over his shoulder at her. "What are you doing here, Allison?" He asked.

"I'm here to apologize," She said.

"You did that already,"

"I know, but I want to do it again," Allison continued, as Jackson opened the door to his room. "I—" Allison broke off, her eyes wide. Derek Hale was sitting on Jackson's bed. So much for Mr. Whittemore's  _imagination._

"Allison," He said.

"I thought you said you were leaving," Jackson said, raising his eyebrows at Derek. "What happened to 'Allison and I should talk,' and 'I'll give you some space'?"

"I decided to stick around for a few minutes, just to make sure she didn't have any weapons on her," Derek said, standing up. "I know how you only like to talk to us if you've got a crossbow pointed at our throats,"

Allison scowled. "The bow was always for  _my_ protection against  _you,_ " She said. "I didn't know you'd be here, so I don't have it,"

Derek nodded. "She's not lying," He said. He glanced at Jackson. "Alright, I'm leaving," He said.

"You don't have to," Jackson told him, stepping towards him. "Stay,"

Derek shook his head. "No, you two have issues to work out."

Jackson snorted. "Right, and you two  _don't?_ "

Derek glanced at Allison. "Somehow, I don't see our issues being resolved tonight," He said. Allison had to suppress a glare. She didn't see their issues being resolved ever.

Derek made his way to Jackson's window, opened it and stuck a leg through. "Call me later, alright?" He told Jackson. Jackson nodded, and gave Derek a quick kiss on the mouth. Then Derek was gone.

Jackson stood at the window for a moment before he turned around to face Allison. He crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the wall. "So," He said. "You said something about an apology?"

Allison nodded. "Jackson, what I did... going behind your back like that, convincing Derek he needed to break up with you... there's no excuse. I thought I was doing the right thing, trying to be a good friend... helping you..."

Jackson raised his eyebrows. Allison waited for him to say something; when he didn't, she continued.

"But I was wrong," She said. "Whatever reasons I had, what I did was wrong. If I was being a real friend, I would have talked to you about it, instead of going behind your back and doing what  _I_ thought was right  _for_ you. But I didn't, and I am so,  _so_  sorry,"

Allison paused, as the horribleness of what she'd done swept over her. How had it seemed like the right thing to do at the time? Had she really been so caught up in herself that destroying her friends relationship had seemed to her like it would  _help_ him? Why on earth had she thought that?

Truthfully, she knew why. Because it was Derek. Because there had been no doubt in her mind that having  _anything_ to do with Derek could be anything other than awful for Jackson. She'd never stopped to consider anything else.

But whatever prejudice she had against Derek, whatever hate she had for him... Jackson had chosen to be with him. She didn't understand it, but he must have seen something in Derek that wasn't apparent to her. Something worth loving.

No matter how impossible it seemed to her, if she wanted to be a good friend she had to respect that.

Jackson was regarding her quietly, and seemed to be thinking over her words. He tilted his chin up. "You're wrong about him, you know," Jackson said, almost as if he had read her thoughts. "He's not what you think,"

Allison licked her lips. "That's not the point. It doesn't matter what I think about him..."

"No, it doesn't," Jackson said. "But you're still wrong,"

"Jackson—"

"Allison, you went to Derek and you told me he was  _hurting_ me, that he was  _bad_ for me. You told him that, and he broke up with me because it  _killed_ him to hear. Do you understand? He couldn't handle even the idea that he was hurting me, so he ended it." Jackson paused, and tilted his head to the side. "Okay, part of it is because he's an idiot, obviously, to even have believed you for a second, but that's besides the point. He's not a  _monster,_ Allison. Not any inch of him,"

Allison turned away from him. "He killed my  _mother_ Jackson—" Allison wheeled back around before he could protest. "No, don't start—he bit her and she died. She  _killed herself_ because of what  _he_ did to her. Nothing you say will change that. Nothing,"

Jackson stepped towards her, and Allison could see anger in his eyes. "Have you ever considered that maybe you don't have all the facts? That maybe you don't know what  _really_ happened that night?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why don't you ask  _Scott_ what I mean. Get  _him_ to tell you,"

"Scott? What—"

"He was there that night, Allison. He was there and he never said a word to you. To protect you, probably." Jackson snorted, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Personally I think you can handle the truth. You're a big girl, aren't you Allison?"

Allison gritted her teeth. "Jackson, you're going to tell me what the hell you're talking about, and you're going to tell me  _right now,_ "

"Fine," Jackson said. She waited, but he just stared at her, jaw tense and eyes enraged. Then he dropped his gaze to the floor, as if suddenly ashamed. "She was trying to kill him. Scott... she tried to kill him. He called Derek for help..." Jackson licked his lips, and slowly lifted his eyes back up to meet Allison's. He no longer looked angry, or indignant. "He was only trying to protect him, Allison,"

Jackson's words seemed to swirl around her brain, not landing or taking root. She didn't understand what Jackson had told her, it didn't make sense to her.

For a moment, she just stood there, turning the words over and over in her brain. Without even realizing it, she found herself seated on the edge of Jackson's bed.

Allison felt as if she'd been split down the middle. Both parts of her seemed to be falling away from each other, trying to get away from it's other half; the part that refused to believe her mother had really tried to kill Scott and the part that knew with absolute certainty that it was true.

Jackson was speaking to her, telling her in a voice full of shame that he was sorry she had to find out like this, but he thought she'd deserved to know the truth. That was a lie, Allison knew. He'd been trying to hurt her, trying to show her that she had been wrong.

Allison shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. What did this change, really? Her mother was still gone, and Allison would never stop missing her. No matter the mistakes she'd made, the path she'd walked... and how could Allison hold any of it against her, when she'd almost followed the same one?

"She was still my mother," Allison said. It took her a moment to realize she'd spoken aloud. She lifted her eyes and looked at Jackson, who looked uncharacteristically apologetic. "And she's still dead,"

"I know," Jackson said, taking a seat next to her on the bed. "And I'm sorry, I really am. But Derek was just trying to protect Scott, I swear. He's not a bad person, Allison,"

Allison closed her eyes for a moment. Her mouth felt dry. "Jackson, why does it matter so much what I think of Derek?" She asked, opening her eyes again.

Jackson looked surprised. "It doesn't... it's just..." He shrugged. "I don't know. I don't want you thinking I'm not safe with him, I guess. And... you're my friend. I don't want you to hate him,"

"I haven't exactly been a great friend to you lately," She pointed out.

"Yeah well, I've never exactly been a great friend to you," Jackson replied. Allison raised her eyebrows, and Jackson glanced away. It might have been her imagination, but Allison thought she felt him shift away from her on the bed. "When we started hanging out... I was only doing it to make Scott jealous. I didn't care about being your friend, I just wanted to mess with him,"

Allison felt a little like she'd been slapped. "You... what?"

Jackson cast a guilty glance at her. "When I got to know you, I cared about you, I swear... just at first..." He looked away again. "I'm sorry, Allison,"

"Why are you telling me this, exactly?"

"Just thought I'd get it off my chest. It didn't seem fair to let you beat yourself up for being a shitty friend, when I was way shittier to you in the first place,"

Allison sighed. She didn't know what to make of this information. "Why don't we just start over?" She said. She looked at Jackson, and saw surprise on his face. "New beginning, new friendship. No lying or hiding or manipulating. Just friends?"

Jackson nodded slowly. "That works for me," He said.

They sat in silence for a moment. Allison wondered if this fresh start meant she was forgiven for what she'd done. Technically, she supposed. However, she wouldn't be surprised if Jackson held on to some resentment for a little while longer. And she wouldn't blame him, either. Still, at least now she knew for sure that he still wanted to be her friend.

"So..." Allison said, searching for a conversation to start their new friendship with. She didn't want to talk about her mother anymore, or dwell on the idea that she had been trying to kill the first boy Allison had ever loved. It was too painful. Another day, she would talk it over with her father, try to understand why she mother had seen Scott as such a threat. For now, she would change the subject. "You told your parents everything, huh?"

"Oh, yeah,"

Allison smiled. "How'd they take it? Finding out about all that stuff, I mean—werewolves, kanimas, witches...?"

Jackson shrugged. "Not bad, actually. I was sort of having a nervous breakdown at the time—" Jackson shot her a look here that basically told her what that breakdown had been about. She glanced down. "And they were a lot more concerned about that than the 'holy shit our son is a werewolf' thing. I mean there was a little bit of that, obviously..." He shrugged. "I think all they want is for me to be okay. If I can do that and be a werewolf, then it doesn't matter to them,"

Allison smiled. "That's good," She said. "Sounds like they took it all really well,"

Jackson ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah... well, they took the whole werewolf thing a lot better than they took the whole Derek thing," He made a face. "I mean it was one thing when we were broken up, when it was in the past—when I told them we were back together, however..." He trailed off. "Not so much,"

Personally, Allison thought that reaction was entirely justified, but she kept it to herself, and attempted to look surprised. "Oh, yeah?"

Jackson rolled his eyes at her. "Shut up, don't pretend like you don't agree with them,"

Allison shrugged a shoulder. "Pretending seemed like the polite thing to do," She admitted. "So why don't your parents want you dating him? Pretend I can't think of a million reasons on my own,"

"Oh, lots of things." Jackson said. "He's too old for me, is the big one. And, he's a former wanted criminal—the fact that he was exonerated means nothing to them... "

"Gee, that's surprising,"

Jackson glared at her, and she raised her hands. "Sorry, continue,"

"He's in a position of power over me, being my alpha and whatever. I explained the pack dynamics to them, and they don't think it's right for him to be dating one of his beta's."

Allison pressed her lips together, and said nothing.  _If you don't have anything nice to say..._

Jackson looked at her, and she had a feeling he knew exactly what she was thinking. "Allison, I'm not completely oblivious. I know that their reasons are... not invalid. He  _is_ too old for me, he's sort of dangerous... I get it, I do,"

She raised her eyebrows. "But... ?"

"But none of that matters." Jackson said, shrugging. "None of it... none of it makes any difference. You could give me all the reasons in the world not to, but in the end I'll always choose him. Every time,"

Allison opened her mouth to respond, but then closed it again without saying anything. She couldn't help but find something familiar in Jackson's words. In a way, his situation wasn't all too different from the one she'd been in while dating Scott. Parents against him, all the reason in the world to walk away but knowing he never would...

Allison's parents had looked at Scott and seen someone dangerous, someone bad for her. And Allison had always known that Scott was anything but. Despite what everyone else thought, she had trusted Scott completely. Loved him, more than anything.

She looked at Jackson, suddenly filled with renewed shame over what she'd done. "I understand," She said quietly. Jackson looked surprised. "I get it, Jackson, I do. And I'm so sorry I took that away from you, even for a little bit,"

Jackson rolled his eyes, and reached forward to clasp Allison's shoulder. "Allison, you've apologized enough. We're putting all that crap behind us, remember? We both made mistakes, and if we want to we can spend the rest of our lives regretting them and punishing ourselves," He said. "But what'll that get us? Fucking nothing, is what. Wallowing and hating ourselves and moping around full of regret won't do anyone any good." He took his hand away, and looked her in the eye.

Allison knew what he was saying. "We can't undo the things we did... but we can do better,"

Jackson nodded. "Exactly. Derek thinks more things will come. Here, to Beacon Hills I mean. He doesn't think we're done fighting. And I figure if he's right, then that's not a bad place to start."

Allison furrowed her brow. "How do you mean?"

"We can fight," Jackson said. "We can fight whatever comes, stop it before innocent people get hurt. All our strength, our skills, we can make it  _mean_ something. We can—"

"Protect those who cannot protect themselves," Allison finished.

"What?"

"It's something I've been thinking about," Allison said. "My family—hunters, we have a code. ' _Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent.'_ It means 'we hunt those who hunt us.' But I've been thinking that's... not right. I've been thinking maybe we should have a new code. A better one,"

Jackson raised his eyebrows. "And that code is...?"

"' _Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger,'_ " Allison recited. "'We protect those who cannot protect themselves,'"

Jackson nodded. "Sounds like a good code,"

Allison smiled. "I thought so. I haven't run it by my Dad yet, but I think it'll be okay."

Jackson smiled, but it looked tense. "We can do this, right? Find some way to put all that darkness behind us and move on?"

Allison pursed her lips, thinking. "I don't know if we can put it behind us," She said quietly. "I mean, I'd like to yes, but I really don't know. The things that happened to us, the things we did... I think it'll always be a part of us, in a way,"

At her words, Allison saw Jackson's shoulder's sink. She put her hand on his. "But I know that we don't have to let those things define us, or say who we are and what we do," She continued, raising her eyebrows at Jackson. "You were right, Jackson. The past will always be there, we can't change that. But we don't have to let it decide what the future is,"

"How inspiring," Jackson replied. "You should work for Hallmark,"

Rolling her eyes, Allison gave Jackson's shoulder a light shove. "Shut up, okay? I'm serious. It's like you said. Whatever comes, whatever chaos enters our lives, we'll fight it. Whether it's a ridiculously difficult algebra test, or flesh-eating zombies. We're gonna fight it all, and we're gonna win,"

Jackson frowned. "I don't know, Allison. I mean, flesh-eating zombies are one thing, but algebra?" He sucked his breath in between his teeth. "Not my bag,"

Allison laughed and shook her head, and Jackson smiled at her. "Do you want to catch a movie?" He asked, surprising her. "It's been forever since I've actually sat down in a theatre to watch something,"

After considering for a moment, Allison nodded. "Sure," She said. "A movie sounds nice. Normal. I could use some normal,"

"We could call Lydia, see what she's up to..." Jackson paused. "There aren't any movie's based on Nicholas Sparks books in theatre's right now, are there?"

Allison shrugged. "No idea,"

"Well, we should check that, and  _then_ give Lydia a call. Maybe Danny, too,"

Allison raised her eyebrows. "How about Scott and Stiles?" She asked.

Jackson gave her a look that said she was pushing it. "I think I'd rather see a movie with the flesh-eating zombies,"

Allison shrugged. "That's fair,"

As Allison and Jackson went about calling their friends and choosing a movie to watch, a strange feeling settled in Allison's chest. Something foreign, but not at all unwelcome. It was a feeling of warmth and contention and Allison knew that for at least the moment, at least for this night... they were safe. She had meant what she'd said to Jackson, about fighting. Whatever came, whatever evil tried to kill them next or whatever chaos turned their lives upside down, it wouldn't matter. They would fight it all, and Allison knew that they would win.

But tonight, there would be no fighting. No strife, and no pain. For tonight they were just normal kids, not werewolves, hunters or banshees. Just normal kids going to see a movie on a Saturday night.

And that suited Allison just fine.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're approaching the end of the road here. There will be one more chapter, in the form of an epilogue, but then we're done! I apologize for taking so long to update recently, but I was busy with life stuff. Also, endings are hard. I'm still not completely satisfied with this one, but if I waited for an ending I'm completely satisfied with then we'd be here forever.


	38. Epilogue:Dinner

* * *

"I may not have gone where I intended to go,  
But I think I have ended up where I needed to be."  
— Douglas Adams,  _The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul (Dirk Gently, #2)_

* * *

Derek was early. Somehow, coming early had seemed polite when he'd made the decision to do it. He couldn't remember why now, as he stood at the Whittemore's doorstep and tried to gather up the courage to knock. Dinner had been set for seven, and it was only just six o'clock now... that was way, way too early.

It wasn't too late to leave. He hadn't knocked, they didn't know he was here. They never had to. All he had to do was turn around and get back in his car...

The hair on the back of Derek's neck stood up, as he heard a car approach the house. He turned around in time to see Jackson's porsche pull up into the driveway, with Jackson behind the wheel and his mother as a passenger. Derek's shoulders sank.

"Derek, what are you doing here?" Jackson asked, climbing out of his car. Despite his nerves, Derek had to smile; Jackson was wearing the leather jacket he had given him. It was a little too long in him in the sleeves, but otherwise it suited him well.

"I'm here for dinner," Derek said, striding forward. He extended his hand to Jackson's mother and smiled as charmingly as he knew how. "Mrs. Whittemore," He said. "It's good to finally meet you,"

Mrs. Whittemore's smile was tense as she shook his hand. Derek could smell apprehension and mistrust rolling off her in waves, and she did very little to hide it. "It's nice to meet you as well," Jackson's mother lied—badly. "We've heard so much about you..."

"Well, it couldn't have been all bad, right?"

Jackson laughed, and his mother smiled ever so slightly. It might have been his imagination, but Derek thought he sensed her tension ease, just a little bit. Still, any little bit was progress. Maybe by the end of the night, she'd hardly hate him at all.

"You know you're like an hour early, right?" Jackson said, raising his eyebrows. "Dinner's not even  _ready_ yet,"

"Well... then maybe I can help you make it?" Derek offered. Coming this early had been a huge mistake. What the hell had he been thinking?

"That's nice of you, Derek, but it's not necessary," Mrs. Whittemore said, heading for the back of the porsche. "Jackson, come help me unload the groceries,"

Jackson and his mother began unloading groceries from the trunk of their car. Jackson grabbed up almost every bag himself, leaving only one for his mother. When Derek tried to help him, Jackson shoved him off. "I got it, I got it," He insisted, walking slowly with his mountain of groceries towards the house.

Mrs. Whittemore shook his head. "He's a real show off with the super strength," She said.

Derek grinned. "Is he?"

"Can someone get the door for me?" Jackson called, struggling to keep all the groceries secured in his arms.

Derek went over to him and pulled the keys out from where they were sandwiched between Jackson's hand and a bag of groceries, and opened the door. He held it open for both Jackson and his mother, who nodded her head in thanks.

"Oh good you're home—" Jackson's father stopped suddenly as he entered the hall and laid eyes on Derek. His back stiffened, his eyes narrowed and his scent soured. While Jackson's mother had smelt of fear and worry, Jackson's father only smelt of pure, absolute hatred.

"David," Jackson's mother said, stepping forward to greet her husband. "Derek came early, to help us with dinner,"

"Oh?" said David Whittemore, still staring at Derek as if he had just tracked dog feces into the house with him. "That's not necessary,"

There was a loud crashing noise, and Derek turned around to find that Jackson had dropped the groceries. Things were spilling out of them and cans and apples were rolling across the floor. "Crap!" Jackson exclaimed, bending down and grabbing things.

Jackson's mother sighed. "At least I was holding the eggs," She said, placing her bag down on the ground to help Jackson. The two of them cleaned up the mess quickly. "Come on, let's get these things put away,"

She handed a few grocery bags to her husband, "These things are for dinner tonight, or they're going in the fridge in the kitchen," She told him. He nodded. Derek wondered if that meant they had another fridge not in the kitchen. Derek supposed so, as she and Jackson took the rest of the bags and headed to the basement. Now it was just Derek and Jackson's father.

David glared at Derek for a moment, and then turned and headed for the kitchen. "Follow me," He grumbled. Derek did as instructed.

Jackson's father began to put groceries away in the fridge. Halfway through, he paused and looked at Derek. "Can he hear us?" He asked.

"Jackson? If he's listening, he can," Derek said, a bit thrown by the question.

David nodded, and closed the fridge. He picked up a blender and plugged it in, pressed the ON button. It whirred nosily to life. "What about now?"

Derek was fairly sure that the noise from the blender wouldn't stop Jackson from overhearing anything that was said, but instead of saying so he simply shrugged. "Hard to say,"

"It'll have to do," Mr. Whittemore said. His eyes narrowed once more. "I want you to know that I  _do not_ approve of what you're doing with my son," He said in a low voice. "He's seventeen years old, and I don't know your age but I know it is  _too old for him._ I don't approve of you dating him, and I  _really_ do not approve of you having  _sex_ with him—"

Derek opened his mouth to protest, but Mr. Whittemore didn't give him the chance. "And don't try and tell me you're  _not_ having sex with him because he was very explicit about that fact," He snapped.

Derek's closed his mouth. Later, he was going to have to ask Jackson what exactly he'd told his parents. He wanted him to have a good relationship with them... but maybe a slightly less forthcoming one wouldn't be so terrible.

The sounds of footsteps on stairs told him that Jackson and his mother were reemerging from the basement, but Jackson's father wasn't finished. "This dinner was Jackson's idea," He said, which was a surprise to Derek. When Jackson had invited him, he'd strongly implied that this dinner was something his parents were insisting on. "He wants us to know you. So you're here, and we're getting to know you," David Whittmore pointed a finger in Derek's face. "But don't for a second think that means me  _or_ my wife are okay with this—"

"Dad!" Jackson cried, barging into the room. "What the hell?"

Jackson's father scowled, and hit the OFF button on the blender. "I'm having a talk with your boyfriend," He said. "Getting a few facts straight,"

"David," Mrs. Whittemore said, her voice chastising. "You promised you'd be civil,"

Jackson stepped up to his father and crossed his arms. "You promised you wouldn't attack him!"

Mr. Whittemore showed no signs of backing down. "I said I'd do my best to be civil, and not attack him," He said.

Jackson's face was slowly turning red, and Derek could sense trouble brewing. He took a step over to Jackson, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Jackson, it's fine," He said quietly. "He has a right to say to what he wants,"

The look on Jackson's fathers face turned even more livid, if possible. Evidently he did not appreciate Derek's defence. Neither, it seemed, did Jackson. "Don't you  _defend_ him," Jackson spat. "He has no right to say those things to you! Especially—" Jackson shot a look at his father. "When he  _promised_ he wouldn't!"

"Technically, I promised I would do my best—"

"David, honey, this is a kitchen not a courtroom," His wife said. "That won't work here,"

"Apologize to Derek," Jackson demanded. His fathers mouth opened slightly. "Right now,"

"That's not necessary—" Derek started.

"Nor is it going to happen," David added.

Jackson scowled. "Dad—"

Mr. Whittemore took a step towards his son. "Jackson, listen to me. I'm sorry, but we just can't do this. You're 17 years old, and you're a godforsaken werewolf, so we can't stop you from doing what you want, but that doesn't mean we have to condone it." Jackson's father said. "He is too damn old for you, and he's a  _murderer,_ "

"He was  _exonerated!_ " Jackson cried. Judging from the exasperation in his voice, this was a conversation they'd had a few times already.

David turned to Derek, eyebrows raised. "Did you or did you not kill your uncle?" He demanded.

Derek glanced from Jackson's father to Jackson, unsure whether or not he should answer. Before he could, Jackson did for him. "He  _had_ to kill Peter, the guy is a psychopath! Personally I don't understand why he doesn't kill him  _again!_ "

"Jackson, it is not for one man to decide to another's fate. That is what the  _law_ is for. Nothing good has ever come from one man taking the law into his own hands, for  _any reason!_ "

"Please, stop it, both of you," Mrs. Whittemore begged. "How many times do we have to have this conversation?" She looked at her husband. "Jackson knows how we feel, we've told him enough times. And he's made it clear to us how  _he_ feels. He's  _not_ going to stop seeing Derek, and nothing we say will change his mind. Now he can do it behind our backs, sneaking out of the house every night to be with him, or we can all sit down and try to have a nice dinner together like normal fucking people," Her voice picked up slightly as she came to the end of her speech, and there was a note of hysteria in her eyes. It was gone in a moment, and when she spoke again she sounded calm. "I'm going to start on the potatoes. Jackson, why don't you and Derek make the salad?"

Jackson nodded, and Mrs. Whittemore turned to her husband. "Honey, pork chops,"

"But Jessica—"

Jessica Whittemore's eyes flashes.  _"Pork chops,"_ She repeated.

Shoulders slumped slightly in resignation, Mr. Whittemore grabbed a bag of groceries from the counter and began unloading ingredients from it.

The change in the kitchen was drastic. Everyone was quiet as they busied themselves with their assigned tasks. Mr. Whittemore stood at one counter, silently fuming as he prepared the pork chops and Mrs. Whittemore wore a look of fierce determination on her face as she sat at the kitchen table, violently peeling potatoes. At the other counter, Jackson and Derek stood shoulder to shoulder, slicing and dicing vegetables for the salad.

"Are you okay?" Jackson mumbled, glancing up from the cucumber he was slowly cutting up.

"I think this dinner may have been a mistake," Derek mumbled back. He finished dicing the tomatoes, and added them to the big salad bowl.

"You don't say," Mr. Whittemore muttered under his breath. Derek looked up, and saw Mrs. Whittemore shoot her husband a deadly glare over the potatoes. Mr. Whittemore ducked his head, and went back to his pork chops without another word.

"It'll be okay," Jackson assured him. "Worst case scenario, my father murders you before desert, in which case you get out of dinner early,"

Derek smiled wryly. "But then I don't get desert," Derek pointed out.

Jackson tilted his head. "...True. Well, hopefully it won't come to that,"

After they had finished the salad, Mrs. Whittemore said she and her husband could handle the rest of the dinner preparation, so Derek and Jackson wandered into the living room and sat down on the couch. Jackson sat down directly next to Derek and grabbed his hand, and Derek cast a worried look at the kitchen. "Maybe we should sit on separate couches..."

Jackson scowled, and shot a look towards the kitchen. "No way," He said. He grabbed the television remote from the coffee table and clicked the television on. A cake making competition show was playing. Jackson turned to Derek. "What exactly did he say to you?" He demanded. "I only caught the end—what did I miss?"

Derek glanced away. He didn't want to start something between Jackson and his father. "Just the usual protective father sort of things," He mumbled.

One of Jackson's hands turned Derek's face back towards him. "Bullshit," Jackson said. "Tell me what he said to you,"

Sighing, Derek answered him. "He doesn't approve of our relationship, or the fact that we're having sex. I'm too old for you, and he doesn't like it,"

Jackson's eyes narrowed. "That's it?"

Derek nodded. "That's it,"

Jackson rolled his eyes. "Yeah, they've told me all of that about a hundred times. Still, he shouldn't have said anything to  _you,_ "

Derek shrugged. "He's not wrong. I  _am_ too old for you,"

Jackson threw his hands up in the air. "Oh my god,  _I know._ And the sky is blue, and kittens and puppies get old and die and someday we will too," He said. Derek raised an eyebrow, unsure what Jackson's point was. "Everyone  _knows_ all that crap already, so there's no reason we have to sit around talking about it all the time! Yeah, you're too old for me. Well so what? That's not going to change, and we're not going to break up, so let's just all move on, for christ sake,"

Derek raised his hands. "Alright, calm down,"

"Sorry," Jackson said. "It's just if I had a dollar for every time they brought that up, I'd have like... like twenty bucks or something,"

Derek snorted.

Jackson sank back down against the couch, and took Derek's hand back in his. He said nothing more, and after a few minutes Derek realized he was actually watching the cake making show. "Are you really watching this?" He asked.

"Shh," Jackson said, waving his hand in Derek's direction. "They're doing a skill testing challenge, I want to see who wins,"

Derek rolled his eyes, and decided to not make any further comments. Instead he watched quietly with Jackson, and was surprised to find that there was indeed something strangely entertaining about watching four people in brightly coloured smocks run around building a six foot tall cake. When the time came for the judges to decide who was the winner was, he actually felt a bit concerned. Everyone had put so much effort into their dumb cake, it seemed unfair that three out of four teams would lose.

"It's gotta be the blue team," Jackson mumbled, leaning forward slightly in his seat. "The level of detail in their icing is incredible,"

"Are you nuts? It's going to be the pink team—did you see their sugar work? It looks like glass—"

" _So?_ Their fondant is sloppy as hell, look it's crumbling on the fourth tier—"

The yellow team was announced as the winner, and Jackson and Derek let out a collective groan. "No way, that makes no sense  _at all,_ "

"Their sugar work was terrible—I don't even know anything about sugar and I could see that!"

"Agreed, they were awful—"

The sound of someone clearing their throat caught Derek's attention, and he turned his head to find Mrs. Whittemore standing at the mouth of the room."Dinner's ready, Jackson please come help us bring everything to the table?"

Jackson nodded and stood up, and Derek did the same. "Go sit at the table, Derek," Jackson told him. "I can handle the pork chops on my own,"

Jackson disappeared into the kitchen with his mother, and Derek took a seat at table in the dining room. Jackson's father was the first to come in, carrying a bowl of what smelt like the mashed potatoes his wife had made. He placed the bowl on the table, before taking a seat at the head of it.

They looked at each other. Neither of them said anything.

Somehow, the silence seemed to be an almost physical entity to Derek, pressing in him from all sides and making him sweat. Should he say something, try to strike up some kind of conversation with him? The look on Mr. Whittemore's face wasn't exactly filling him with confidence.

Though they were only alone for less than a minute, an entire lifetime seemed to pass before Jackson and his mother reentered the room with the food. Derek was so relieved to see them, he jumped out of his seat. To cover for this inexplicable action, he went to go help Mrs. Whittemore with the dishes she was carrying. "Oh, uh... thank you, Derek," She said uncertainly, as Derek took the dishes from her arms and placed them on the table. Derek gave a quick smile, and resumed his seat.

Mrs. Whittemore took a seat at the other end of the table, and Jackson sat across from Derek. Food was passed around the table, and everybody began taking what they wanted. "The food smells delicious," Derek commented, as he took a large helping of a dish that smelt of cheese and zucchini.

Jackson nodded his head. His plate was already full of everything that was on the table, and his mouth appeared to be as well. He swallowed, and took a sip of his diet coke. "It tastes great, too," He added.

Mr. Whittemore opened up a bottle of red wine and poured two glasses. Jackson passed the second to his mother, who stared at it for a moment before looking up at Derek. "Derek, would you... ?"

"Oh, no that's alright," Derek said quickly. "No thank you,"

"Why not?" Mr. Whittemore mumbled. "You're old enough, aren't you?"

"Dad!" Jackson exclaimed, slamming his diet coke down against the table. "Come on!"

"What?" Mr. Whittemore asked, feigning innocence. "He  _is,_ isn't he?"

Derek smiled tensely. This was going to be a long, long evening. "I'm fine with diet coke," He said.

"So, Derek," Mrs. Whittemore started, in a tone which clearly stated that they were changing the subject. "You know, Jackson talks about you all the time, but I hardly feel like I know anything about you,"

Derek allowed himself a small smile. "Oh, he talks about me a lot, does he?" He said, glancing at Jackson, who suddenly became very busy with his mashed potatoes.

"All the time," David mumbled, topping off his glass of wine.

"What would you like to know?" Derek continued, ignoring Jackson's fathers comment.

"Well... what exactly do you do for a living?" Jessica Whittemore asked. "Jackson never mentioned..."

"That's because he doesn't  _do_ anything," Jackson interjected. Derek shot him a look, and Jackson shrugged. "What? You don't,"

"I own a building downtown," Derek said. "I'm working on renovating it, at the moment," He glanced from Mrs. Whittemore back to Jackson and saw him rolling his eyes. "But Jackson is right, as far as jobs go, I don't have one,"

Mrs. Whittemore looked surprised. "Oh... um, I hope you don't mind me asking, but how do you..." She moved her hand in circles, searching for the right term. "Live?"

David Whittemore muttered something, but his wife didn't catch it. Derek, however, did. "What did you say, David?" She asked.

" _Nothing,_ Mom," Jackson said, glaring at his father.

Derek pursed his lips. "He said 'insurance money,'"

Mrs. Whittemore furrowed her brow. "Insurance—" She broke off, and her eyes widened as she understood. "Oh,"

Derek gave her a tight lipped smile, and said nothing.

"Summer's going to be over soon, Derek," Jackson said, once again changing the subject. "You haven't given any more thought to my suggestion, have you?"

"Suggestion?" Mrs. Whittemore repeated. "What suggestion?"

Derek sighed. "Jackson wants to have another party at my loft—and no I didn't give more thought to it, because I already said  _no,_ "

"Oh, come on!" Jackson whined. "Why?"

"Because the loft smelt like body odour and beer for three days after that last party," Derek said. "Not to mention the place was trashed—sure, Erica, Boyd and Isaac 'cleaned' it but their cleaning skills really leave a lot to be desired. I said no, and I'm standing by it,"

"We'll see,"

"No, no we will not—"

"What do you do all day?" Mr. Whittemore interrupted. Derek glanced at him, and saw he had finished his glass of wine. "If you don't have a job, what do you do?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Derek saw Jackson slam his fork down on the table. He stood up violently, glaring at his father. "Dad, kitchen. Now,"

"I'm just asking a simple question—"

" _Now!"_

Derek opened his mouth to tell Jackson it was okay, that it was fine, but then he changed his mind and closed it again. Why should he have to sit here all night long and listen to this man's snide jabs? He wouldn't have put up with that from anyone else on earth, and he wouldn't have put up with a  _lot more violently._ So he said nothing, and watched as Jackson and his father disappeared into the kitchen.

Now left alone with Mrs. Whittemore, Derek glanced at her and saw she was staring at the closed kitchen door, biting her lip. "I'll be back in a moment, too," She said, standing up.

Alone in the dining room, Derek helped himself to some more pork chops as he listened to the Whittemore's fight.

"You just can't help yourself!" Jackson shouted at his father. "You just make comment after comment—how do you think that makes him feel?"

"Maybe my concern isn't for his feelings!" Mr. Whittemore shouted back. "Maybe my concern is for my son, who's being taken advantage off?"

"David, come on, you're being unreasonable—"

"Taken advantage of?" Jackson cried, drowning out his mother. "Taken  _advantage_ of? How?! In—in what  _possible_ way is Derek  _taking advantage of me?!_ And don't you dare say he's—"

"—too old for you!" Mr. Whittemore shouted over the end of Jackson's sentence. Derek heard Jackson make a garbled noise of frustration. "I'm sorry, I know we've said enough times for you but  _it's true._ He's much too old for you, it's not right—"

"If we have to have this conversation again, I need more wine," Mrs. Whittemore mumbled. She sounded tired. "A lot more wine,"

"Dad, please," Jackson said, his voice desperate. "Please can't you just  _give him a chance?_ Just a small one, please? Just—just let's get through this dinner without anymore comments, and get to know him. You'll see Dad, you'll see he's not what you think..."

"Why, Jackson? Why is it so important to you that I get to know him?"

"Because! Because he's my boyfriend—"

"So what? Lot's of parents don't get along with the person their child is seeing, in fact it would probably be considered strange if we  _did_ approve—"

"Because I  _love him!_ "

Silence. Derek sat straight up, for a moment uncertain about what he'd heard.  _Because I love him._ Had Jackson ever said that out loud before? Derek knew the answer—no, of course not. Jackson had a strange relationship with the words  _I love you._ They frightened him to hear, and had seemed impossible for him to say. He'd suggested it, before... and Derek had known, of course, that Jackson  _did_ love him. Still, there was something about hearing it aloud...

"What did you just say?" Jackson's mother asked, sounding as stunned as Derek felt.

"You  _love_ him?" Mr. Whittemore's tone matched his wife's.

"Yeah, I love him," Jackson repeated. "And I just... he's a part of my life. A big part of it, and I just wanted to share that with you," He said. "It was stupid,"

Jackson reemerged from the kitchen, his face hard. Derek stood up, uncertain about what to say. "I guess you heard all of that?" He asked.

"I would have heard it even without heightened senses," Derek said. "Do you want to leave?"

Jackson nodded. "You were right, this dinner was a mistake,"

"I'm sorry,"

They went out into the front hall, and Jackson grabbed his coat from the closest. As he was shrugging it on, Mrs. Whittemore came rushing out of the kitchen. "Wait, wait wait wait," She said, holding up her hands. "Wait,"

Jackson raised his eyebrows. "Mom, we're waiting," He said. "What?"

"Don't go, please," She said. "Your fathers calmed down, he promises to keep his trap shut for the rest of the night. Let's just finish dinner, please,"

Jackson looked hesitant. "I don't know, Mom..." He glanced at Derek. "Derek?"

Derek wanted to leave. He wanted to get back to his loft and relax with Jackson, and not have to deal with anymore judgment and resentment for the rest of the night. "Let's stay," He said.

Jackson took off his jacket, and he and Derek resumed their seats. Mr. Whittemore was already back at the head of the table, and he smiled tensely. "Right, so we should probably eat, before everything gets colder," He said, smiling a big, fake, nervous smile.

They ate in silence. Derek looked at Jackson, who shrugged back at him. Knives and forks clinked against plates, food was chewed and drinks were sipped. No one said a word.

When the meal was over, Derek stood up to help Jackson's parents clean. After giving Jackson a nudge with his arm, Jackson did the same. They took the plates into the kitchen and stacked them in the sink, while Mr. Whittemore moved the leftovers into tupperware containers and placed them in the fridge and Mrs. Whittemore wiped down the table.

"Er, I don't know if anyone wants to bother, but we have desert," Mrs. Whittemore said, once the cleaning was finished. She pulled out a pie. "It's apple,"

Derek glanced at Jackson, who gave him a slightly pleading look. "I love apple," He said.

"Maybe let's put on a movie or something while we eat," Jackson suggested. "Just in case conversation is... light,"

"Fine with me," Mr. Whittemore said.

"David, you just bought some movie, didn't you?"

"I bought the Lord of the Rings trilogy, not just 'some movie,'" He said.

"Perfect, let's watch one of those then,"

"Aren't those movies sort of long?" Jackson asked.

"If you want to put a time limit on one of the greatest cinematic masterpieces of our time, then perhaps,"

Jackson snorted. "Right, sure," He mumbled. "Okay, let's watch the first one,"

The pie was served warm with vanilla ice-cream. Tea was made, and  _The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring_  was put in the DVD player. Mr. And Mrs. Whittemore sat on the loveseat, and Derek and Jackson took the longer couch, sitting a few inches apart.

The movie began, and although it had been years since Derek had read the book, he remembered enough that he didn't feel the need to ask any questions. Jackson on the other hand asked several questions, all while ignoring the annoyed look on his fathers face every time he did. After a little while, Derek realized he was doing it on purpose. He smiled a little.

A little while into the second disk of the movie, Derek looked over and found both of Jackson's parents asleep, their heads resting against each other.

Sliding closer to Jackson on the couch, Derek wound his arm over Jackson's shoulder and pulled him in.

"This movie is stupid," Jackson mumbled. "Frodo is an idiot and he's already practically died like a million times. Why the hell are they trusting him to live long enough to get to wherever—"

Jackson was cut off as Derek kissed him, placing two fingers beneath his chin to lift his mouth towards him. When they broke apart, Derek smiled and ran his fingers through Jackson's hair. "Thank you," Jackson said quietly.

Derek raised an eyebrow. "For kissing you?"

"No, for being so good tonight," Jackson said. "I know it wasn't easy, putting up with my Dad, and all the fighting..."

Derek shrugged. "It wasn't so bad," He said. "The ending was almost promising, I bet next time things will go way better,"

Surprise showed on Jackson's face. "Seriously? You'd really be willing to do this again?"

"Well, I mean we do have two more movies to get through," Derek said, gesturing to the screen. "We have to find out whether or not that idiot Frodo ever gets to wherever he's supposed to be going,"

Jackson looked at him for a moment, and then leaned in and kissed him. The kiss was ferocious and hard, but Derek could taste sweetness in it. There was an openness in the kiss, an unguarded vulnerability that had not always been available to him. He was grateful it was now. It made the difficult events of the night seem trivial in comparison.

"So," Derek mumbled, lips still brushing against Jackson's. "You love me?"

"Obviously," Jackson replied. He raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you didn't know?"

"No, I knew... it was just nice to hear it,"

Jackson pulled back slightly. "I know, I'm sorry. I should say it more often... or, I mean, ever..."

Derek put his hand on Jackson's face. "Don't say it anymore than you're comfortable," He said.

The corner of Jackson's mouth quirked up in a smile. "I love you," He said.

"That's good," Derek replied. "I love you too, of course," He kissed Jackson again, lightly this time. The sound of movement caught his attention, and Derek looked over to see Jackson's father sitting up slightly in his seat, his eyes open. They looked at each other for a moment. Derek was sure he was about to say something.

Instead, David Whittemore shook his head and proceeded to go back to sleep.

"Just wait, I'm going to hear about this tomorrow," Jackson mumbled.

"Still," Derek said, running his fingers through Jackson's hair some more. "I think it's progress. And hey, we got through the whole night with no bloodshed," His raised his eyebrows. "I'll call that a win,"

Jackson snorted. "Yeah, okay," he said.

The rest of the night was uneventful. They watched the remainder of the movie in relative silence—now that his father was asleep, Jackson didn't bother asking nearly so many questions. When it was over, Jackson walked Derek out his car, and they kissed one more time. The night air was warm, and the sky was clear and cloudless. A crescent moon shone brightly in the sky above them.

"See you tomorrow?" Jackson asked, trailing a hand inside of Derek's jacket.

Derek nodded. He kissed Jackson a final time, and got inside of his car.

Jackson stood in his driveway and watched Derek drive off, staring down the street long after his car disappeared from sight. The night felt calm and peaceful around him, and a pleasant breeze mussed his hair.

Jackson smiled to himself, then went back into his home and closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand we're done! I hope you enjoyed this story, and will stick around for my next halemore fic, which I've just started work on. Essentially, the premise is that to get Jackson out of some trouble he got himself into, Derek pretends that they're mates. Wacky shenanigans ensue as they attempt to keep up the ruse.
> 
> I also may or may not be considering a sequel to TLC. Perhaps. We'll see.


End file.
